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' 


"NO   CLUE!" 


4  4 


NO  CLUE!" 

A  Mystery  Story 


BY 

JAMES   HAY,  JR. 

AUTHOR  OF   "THE   WINNING  CLUE," 
"  THE  MELWOOD  MYSTERY" 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,    MEAD   AND   COMPANY 
1920 


COPTBIGHT,   1920 

BT  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


TO 
WILLIAM  (  "BUCK")  HAY 


2136132  ' 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I.  THE  GREY  ENVELOPE    .       .       .  1 

II.  THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN  .       <  8 

III.  THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS  .       .  20 

IV.  HASTINGS  Is  RETAINED  ...  35 
V.  THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE  48 

VI.  ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF       .       .  62 

VII.  THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE    .  75 

VIII.  THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY  .       .  91 

IX.  THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER  103 

X.  THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE      .  122 

XI.  MOTIVES  REVEALED  .       .       .       .  138 

XII.  HENDRICKS  REPORTS      .       .       .  151 

XIII.  MRS.  BRACE  BEGINS  .     .       .       .  161 

XIV.  MR.  CROWN  FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE  177 
XV.  IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM  .       .  195 

XVI.  THE  BRIBE       .       .     \.,       .       .  213 

XVII.  "  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH  "       '......  224 

XVIII.  .THE  MAN  WHO  RODE  AWAY        .  238 

XIX.  "PURSUIT!" 246 

XX.  DENIAL  OF  THE  CHARGE        .       .  261 

XXI.  "  AMPLE  EVIDENCE  "             .      ...  273 


"NO  CLUE!" 


THE  GREY  ENVELOPE 

ATHERINE  BRACE  walked  slowly  from 
I  .  the  mantel-piece  to  the  open  window  and 
back  again.  Within  the  last  hour  she 
had  done  that  many  times,  always  to  halt  be- 
fore the  mantel  and  gaze  at  the  oblong,  grey 
envelope  that  leaned  against  the  clock.  Evi- 
dently, she  regarded  it  as  a  powerful  agency. 
An  observer  would  have  perceived  that  she  saw 
tremendous  things  come  out  of  it — and  that  she 
considered  them  with  mingled  satisfaction  and 
defiance. 

Her  attitude,  however,  betrayed  no  hint  of 
hesitation.  Bather,  the  fixity  of  her  gaze  and 
the  intensity  of  her  mental  concentration  threw 
into  high  relief  the  hardness  of  her  personality. 
She  was  singularly  devoid  of  that  quality  which 
is  generally  called  feminine  softness. 

And  she  was  a  forceful  woman.  She  had 
power.  It  was  in  her  lean,  high-shouldered,  un- 
graceful figure.  It  was  in  her  thin,  mobile  lips 


2  "NO  CLUE !  " 

and  her  high-bridged  nose  with  its  thin,  clean-cut 
nostrils.  She  impressed  herself  upon  her  environ- 
ment. Standing  there  at  the  mantel,  her  hands 
clasped  behind  her,  she  was  so  caught  up  by  the 
possibilities  of  the  future  that  she  succeeded  in 
imparting  to  the  grey  envelope  an  almost  ani- 
mate quality. 

She  became  aware  once  more  of  voices  in  the 
next  room :  a  man's  light  baritone  in  protest, 
followed  by  the  taunt  of  her  daughter's  laugh. 
Although  she  left  the  mantel  with  lithe,  swift 
step,  it  was  with  unusual  deliberation  that  she 
opened  the  communicating  door. 

Her  voice  was  free  of  excitement  when,  ignor- 
ing her  daughter's  caller,  she  said: 

"  Mildred,  just  a  moment,  please." 

Mildred  came  in  and  closed  the  door.  Her 
mother,  now  near  the  window  across  the  room, 
looked  first  at  her  and  then  at  the  grey  envelope. 

"  I  thought,"  Mrs.  Brace  said,  "  you'd  forgot- 
ten you  were  going  to  mail  it." 

"Why  didn't  you  mail  it  yourself?"  The 
tone  of  that  was  cool  insolence. 

Mother  and  daughter  were  strikingly  alike — 
hair  piled  high  in  a  wide  wave  above  the  fore- 
head; black  eyes  too  restless,  but  of  that  gleam- 
ing brilliance  which  heralds  a  refusal  to  grow 
old.  So  far,  however,  the  daughter's  features 
had  not  assumed  an  aspect  of  sharpness,  like  the 


THE  GREY  ENVELOPE  3 

mother's.  One  would  have  appraised  the  older 
woman  vindictive — malevolent,  possibly. 

But  in  the  younger  face  the  mouth  greatly 
softened,  almost  concealed,  this  effect  of  cal- 
culating hardness.  Mildred  Brace's  lips  had  a 
softness  of  line,  a  vividness  of  colouring  that 
indicated  emotional  depths  utterly  foreign  to 
her  mother. 

They  bore  themselves  now  as  if  they  com- 
mented on  a  decision  already  reached,  a  mo- 
mentous step  to  which  they  had  given  immense 
consideration. 

"  I  didn't  mail  it,"  Mrs.  Brace  answered  her 
daughter's  query,  "  because  I  knew,  if  you 
mailed  it,  you'd  do  as  you'd  said  you  wanted  to 
do." 

There  was  frank  emphasis  on  the  "  said." 

"  Your  feet  don't  always  follow  your  intelli- 
gence, you  know." 

"I've  been  thinking  about  the  thing,"  Mil- 
dred retorted,  looking  over  her  mother's  shoul- 
der into  the  summer  night.  "  What's  the  use?  " 

"  What's  the  use!  "  Mrs.  Brace  echoed,  incred- 
ulous. 

"  Just  that." 

"  We've  been  all  over  it !  You  know  what  it 
means  to  you — to  both  of  us." 

They  spoke  in  low  tones,  careful  that  the  man 
in  the  living  room  should  not  hear. 


4  "NO  CLUE!" 

"My  dear  mother,"  Mildred  said,  with  a  re- 
turn of  her  cool  insolence,  "you  display  a  con- 
fidence hardly  warranted  by  your — and  our — 
man-experience." 

She  yawned  slightly. 

There  was  a  harsher  note  in  her  mother's  re- 

piy- 

"  He  can't  refuse.    He  can't!  " 

Mildred  stared  at  the  grey  envelope  a  full 
three  minutes.  Mrs.  Brace,  wordless,  showing 
no  uneasiness  as  to  the  outcome,  waited  for  her 
to  speak. 

"  It's  no  use,  mother,"  she  said  at  last.  "  We 
can't  manage  it — him — this  thing.  It's  too  late." 

The  flat  finality,  the  dreariness,  of  that  an- 
nouncement angered  the  older  woman.  Calm- 
ness fell  from  her.  She  came  away  from  the 
window  slowly,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  at  her 
back,  the  upper  part  of  her  body  bending  for- 
ward a  little,  her  thin  nostrils  expanding  and 
contracting  to  the  force  of  her  hurried  breath- 
ing like  leaves  shaken  in  the  wind.  The  curl 
of  her  thin  lips  added  a  curious  ferocity  to  the 
words  that  passed  them.  She  spoke,  only  when 
her  face  was  within  a  few  inches  of  Mildred's. 

"  No  use!  "  she  said  contemptuously,  her  low- 
ered voice  explosive  with  passion.  "  Why?  And 
why  too  late?  Have  you  no  self-respect,  no  will, 
no  firmness?  Are  you  all  jelly  and " 


THE  GREY  ENVELOPE  5 

She  got  hold  of  herself  with  remarkable  effec- 
tiveness, throwing  off  the  signs  of  her  wrath 
as  suddenly  as  they  had  appeared.  She  retreated 
a  step  and  laughed,  without  mirth. 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said,  "it's  your  party,  not 
mine,  after  all.  But,  in  future,  my  dear,  don't 
waste  your  time  and  mine  in  school-girl  heroics." 

She  completed  her  retreat  and  stood  again 
at  the  window.  Her  self-restraint  was,  in  a 
way,  fiercer  than  her  rage — and  it  affected  her 
daughter. 

"  You  see,"  she  concluded,  "  why  I  didn't  mail- 
it.  I  knew  you  wouldn't  do  the  very  thing  you'd 
outlined." 

Mildred  looked  at  the  envelope  again.  The 
pause  that  followed  was  broken  by  the  man  in 
the  other  room. 

"Mildred,"  he  called. 

Mrs.  Brace  laughed  silently.  Mildred,  seeing 
that  ridicule,  recoiled. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at?  "  she  demanded. 

Her  mother  pointed  to  the  communicating 
door. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that,"  she  said,  "  for  life 
— and,"  she  looked  toward  the  grey  envelope, 
"  the  other  thing." 

"  I  don't  see "  Mildred  began,  and  checked 

herself,  gazing  again  at  the  envelope. 

Her  mother  turned  swiftly  and  stood  looking 


6  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

into  the  night.  The  man  called  again  and  was 
not  answered.  The  two  women  were  motionless. 
There  was  no  sound  in  the  room,  save  the  tick- 
ing of  the  clock  on  the  mantel.  Two  minutes 
passed — three. 

Mildred  went  toward  the  mantel,  put  out  her 
hand,  withdrew  it.  She  became  conscious  of  the 
excessive  heat  and  touched  her  forehead  with 
her  handkerchief.  She  glanced  at  her  mother's 
motionless  figure,  started  to  speak,  closed  her 
parted  lips.  Indecision  shook  her.  She  put  out 
her  hand  again,  picked  up  the  envelope  and 
stood  tapping  it  against  her  left  palm. 

Mrs.  Brace,  without  moving,  spoke  at  last : 

"  It's  a  few  minutes  of  twrelve.  If  you  catch 
the  midnight  collection,  he'll  get  it,  out  there, 
by  five  o'clock  tomorrow  afternoon." 

There  was  another  pause. 

Mildred  went  slowly  to  the  door  leading  into 
the  living  room,  and  once  more  she  was  on  the 
point  of  speaking. 

Mrs.  Brace  was  drumming  her  fingers  on  the 
window  ledge.  The  action  announced  plainly 
that  she  had  finished  with  the  situation.  Mil- 
dred put  her  hand  on  the  knob,  pulled  the  door 
half-open,  closed  it  again. 

"  I've  changed  my  mind,"  she  said,  dreariness 
still  in  her  voice.  "  He  can't  refuse." 

Her  mother  made  no  comment. 


THE  GREY  ENVELOPE  7 

Mildred  went  into  the  living  room. 

"  Gene,"  she  said,  with  that  indifference  of 
tone  which  a  woman  employs  toward  a  man 
she  despises,  "  I'm  going  down  to  mail  this." 

"Well,  I'll  swear!"  he  quarrelled  sullenly. 
"  Been  in  there  all  this  time  writing  to  him !  " 

"  Yes !  Look  at  it !  "  she  taunted  viciously, 
and  waved  the  envelope  before  his  eyes. 
"  Sloanehurst ! " 

Taking  up  his  hat,  he  went  with  her  to  the 
elevator. 


II 

THE   WOMAN   ON   THE   LAWN 

MR,  JEFFERSON  HASTINGS,  unsus- 
pecting that  he  was  about  to  be  con- 
fronted with  the  most  brutal  crime  in 
all  his  experience,  regretted  having  come  to 
"  Sloanehurst."  He  disapproved  of  himself  un- 
reservedly. Clad  in  an  ample,  antique  night- 
shirt, he  stood  at  a  window  of  the  guest-room 
assigned  to  him  and  gazed  over  the  steel  rims 
of  his  spectacles  into  the  hot,  rainy  night.  His 
real  vision,  however,  made  no  attempt  to  pierce 
the  outer  darkness.  His  eyes  were  turned  in- 
ward, upon  himself,  in  derision  of  his  behaviour 
during  the  past  three  hours. 

A  kindly,  reticent  gentleman,  who  looked 
much  older  than  his  fifty-three  years,  he  made 
it  his  habit  to  listen  rather  than  talk.  His  wide 
fame  as  a  criminologist  and  consulting  detective 
had  implanted  no  egotism  in  him.  He  abhorred 
the  spotlight. 

But  tonight  Judge  Wilton,  by  skilful  use  of 
query,  suggestion  and  reminder,  had  tempted 


THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN  9 

him  into  talking  "  shop."  He  had  been  lured 
into  the  role  of  monologuist  for  the  benefit  of 
his  host,  Arthur  Sloane.  He  had  talked  bril- 
liantly, at  length,  in  detail,  holding  his  three 
hearers  in  spellbound  and  fascinated  interest 
while  he  discoursed  on  crimes  which  he  had 
probed  and  criminals  whom  he  had  known. 

Not  that  he  thought  he  had  talked  brilliantly ! 
By  no  means!  He  was  convinced  that  nine- 
tenths  of  the  interest  manifested  in  his  remarks 
had  been  dictated  by  politeness.  Old  Hastings 
was  just  that  sort  of  person;  he  discounted  him- 
self. He  was  in  earnest,  therefore,  in  his  pres- 
ent self-denunciation.  He  sighed,  remembering 
the  volume  of  his  discourse,  the  awful  length  of 
time  in  which  he  had  monopolized  the  conver- 
sation. 

But  his  modesty  was  not  his  only  admirable 
characteristic.  He  had,  also,  a  dependable  sense 
of  humour.  It  came  to  his  relief  now — he 
thought  of  his  host,  a  chuckle  throttling  the  be- 
ginnings of  a  second  sigh  deep  down  in  his 
throat. 

This  was  not  the  first  time  that  Arthur 
Broughton  Sloane  had  provoked  a  chuckle,  al- 
though, for  him,  life  was  a  house  of  terror,  a 
torture  chamber  constructed  with  fiendish  in- 
genuity. Mr.  Sloane  suffered  from  "nerves." 
He  was  spending  his  declining  years  in  the  ardu- 


10  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

ous  but  surprisingly  succcessful  task  of  being 
wretched,  irritable  and  ill-at-ease. 

The  variety  of  his  agonies  was  equalled  only 
by  the  alacrity  with  which  he  tested  every  cure 
or  remedy  of  which  he  happened  to  hear.  He 
agreed  enthusiastically  with  his  expensive  physi- 
cians that  he  was  neurasthenic,  psychasthenic 
and  neurotic. 

His  eyes  were  weak;  his  voice  was  weak;  his 
spirit  was  weak.  He  shivered  all  day  with  ter- 
ror at  the  idea  of  not  sleeping  at  night.  Every 
evening  he  quivered  with  horror  at  the  thought 
of  not  waking  up  next  morning.  And  yet,  de- 
spite these  absorbing,  although  not  entirely  de- 
lightful, preoccupations,  Mr.  Sloane  was  not 
without  an  object  in  life. 

In  fact,  he  had  two  objects  in  life:  the  hap- 
piness of  his  daughter,  Lucille,  and  the  study  of 
crime  and  criminals.  The  latter  interest  had 
brought  Hastings  to  the  Sloane  country  home 
in  Virginia.  Judge  Wilton,  an  old  friend  of 
the  wrecked  and  wealthy  Mr.  Sloane,  had  met 
the  detective  on  the  street  in  Washington  and 
urged : 

"Go  down  to  Sloanehurst  and  spend  Satur- 
day night.  I'll  be  there  when  you  arrive. 
Sloane' s  got  his  mind  set  on  seeing  you;  and 
you  won't  regret  it.  His  library  on  criminology 
will  be  a  revelation,  even  to  you." 


THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN          11 

And  Hastings,  largely  because  he  shrank  from 
seeming  ungracious,  had  accepted  Mr.  Sloane's 
subsequent  invitation. 

Climbing  now  into  the  old-fashioned  four- 
poster  bed,  he  thought  again  of  his  conversation- 
spree  and  longed  for  self-justification.  He  sat 
up,  sheetless,  reflecting: 

"As  a  week-ender,  I'm  a  fine  old  chatter-box! 
— But  young  Webster  got  me !  What  did  he  say? 
— '  The  cleverer  the  criminal,  the  easier  to  run 
him  down.  The  thug,  acting  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  with  a  blow  in  the  dark  and  a  getaway 
through  the  night,  leaves  no  trace  behind  him. 
Your  "  smart  criminal "  always  overreaches 
himself.' — A  pretty  theory,  but  wild.  Anyway, 
it  made  me  forget  myself;  I  talked  my  old  fool 
head  off." 

He  felt  himself  blush. 

"Wish  I'd  let  Wilton  do  the  disproving;  he 
was  anxious  enough." 

A  mental  picture  of  Sloane  consoled  him  once 
more. 

"  Silk  socks  and  gingham  gumption ! "  he 
thought.  "  But  he's  honest  in  his  talk  about 
being  interested  in  crime.  The  man  loves 
crime! — Good  thing  he's  got  plenty  of 
money." 

He  fell  asleep,  in  a  kind  of  ruminative 
growl : 


12  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Made  a  fool  of  myself — babbling  about  what 
/  remembered — what  /  thought!  I'll  go  back 
to  Washington — in  the  morning." 

Judge  Wilton's  unsteady  voice,  supplemented 
by  a  rattling  of  the  doorknob,  roused  him.  He 
had  thrust  one  foot  out  of  bed  when  Wilton 
came  into  the  room. 

"  Quick !  Come  on,  man !  "  the  judge  in- 
structed, and  hurried  into  the  hall. 

"  What's  wrong?  "  Hastings  demanded,  reach- 
ing for  his  spectacles. 

Wilton,  on  his  way  down  the  stairs,  flung 
back: 

"  A  woman  hurt — outside." 

From  the  hall  below  came  Mr.  Sloane's  high- 
pitched,  complaining  tones : 

"  Unfathomable  angels!  What  do  you  say? — 
Who?  " 

Drawing  on  shoes  and  trousers,  the  detective 
overtook  his  host  on  the  front  verandah  and 
followed  him  down  the  steps  and  around  the 
northeast  corner  of  the  house.  He  noticed  that 
Sloane  carried  in  one  hand  an  electric  torch 
and  in  the  other  a  bottle  of  smelling  salts.  It 
was  no  longer  raining. 

Rounding  the  corner,  they  saw,  scarcely  fifteen 
yards  from  the  bay-window  of  the  ballroom,  the 
upturned  face  of  a  woman  who  lay  prostrate  on 
the  lawn.  Lights  had  been  turned  on  in  the 


THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN         13 

house,  making  a  glow  which  cut  through  the 
starless  night. 

The  woman  did  not  move.  Judge  Wilton  was 
in  the  act  of  kneeling  beside  her. 

"  Hold  on !  "  Hastings  called  out.  "  Don't  dis- 
turb her — if  she's  dead." 

"  She  is  dead!  "  said  Wilton. 

"  Who  is  she?  "  The  detective,  trying  to  find 
signs  of  life,  put  his  hand  over  her  heart. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Wilton  answered  the  ques- 
tion. "  Do  you,  Sloane?  " 

"Of  course,  I  don't!" 

Hastings  said  afterwards  that  Sloane's  reply 
expressed  astonished  resentment  that  he  should 
be  suspected  of  knowing  anybody  vulgar  enough 
to  be  murdered  on  his  lawn. 

The  detective  drew  back  his  hand.  His  fingers 
were  dark  with  blood. 

At  that  moment  Berne  Webster,  Lucille 
Sloane's  fiance',  came  from  the  rear  of  the  house, 
announcing  breathlessly : 

"  No  'phone  connection — this  time  of  night, 
judge. — It's  past  midnight. — I  sent  chauffeur — 
Lally— for  the  sheriff." 

Hastings  stood  up,  his  first,  cursory  examina- 
tion concluded. 

"  No  doubt  about  it,"  he  said.  "  She's  dead.— 
Bring  a  blanket,  somebody !  " 

Mr.  Sloane's  nerves  had  the  best  of  him  by 


14  "NO  CLUE!" 

this  time.  He  trembled  like  a  man  with  a  chill, 
rattling  the  bottle  of  smelling  salts  against  the 
metal  end  of  his  electric  torch.  He  had  on  slip- 
pers and  a  light  dressing  gown  over  his  pajamas. 

Wilton  was  fully  dressed,  young  Webster  col- 
larless  but  wearing  a  black,  light-weight  loung- 
ing jacket.  Hastings  was  struck  with  the  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  their  dress,  or  undress. 

"  Who  found  her?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  Web- 
ster. 

"Judge  Wilton— and  I,"  said  Webster,  so 
short  of  breath  that  his  chest  heaved. 

"How  long  ago?" 

WTilton  answered  that: 

"  A  few  minutes,  hardly  five  minutes.  I  ran 
in  to  call  you  and  Sloane." 

"  And  Mr.— you,  Mr.  Webster?  " 

"  The  judge  told  me  to — to  get  the  sheriff — 
by  telephone." 

Hastings  knelt  again  over  the  woman's  body. 

"Here,  Mr.  Sloane,"  he  ordered,  "hold  that 
torch  closer,  will  you?  " 

Mr.  Sloane  found  compliance  impossible.  He 
could  not  steady  his  hand  sufficiently. 

"  Hold  that  torch,  judge,"  Hastings  prompted. 

"  It's  knocked  me  out — completely,"  Sloane 
said,  surrendering  the  torch  to  Wilton. 

Webster,  the  pallor  still  on  his  face,  a  look 
of  horror  in  his  eyes,  stood  on  the  side  of  the 


THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN         '15 

body  opposite  the  detective.  At  brief  intervals 
he  raised  first  one  foot,  then  the  other,  clear 
of  the  ground  and  set  it  down  again.  He  was 
unconscious  of  making  any  movement  at  all. 

Hastings,  thoroughly  absorbed  in  the  work 
before  him,  went  about  it  swiftly,  with  now  and 
then  brief,  murmured  comment  on  what  he  did 
and  saw.  Although  his  ample  night-shirt,  stuffed 
into  his  equally  baggy  trousers,  contributed 
nothing  but  comicality  to  his  appearance,  the 
others  submitted  without  question  to  his  domi- 
nation. There  was  about  him  suddenly  an  at- 
mosphere of  power  that  impressed  even  the  little 
group  of  awe-struck  servants  who  stood  a  few 
feet  away. 

"  Stabbed,"  he  said,  after  he  had  run  his  hands 
over  the  woman's  figure ;  "  died  instantly — must 
have.  Got  her  heart. — Young — not  over  twenty- 
five,  would  you  say? — Not  dead  long. — Anybody 
call  a  doctor?  " 

"  I  told  Lally  to  stop  by  Dr.  Garnet's  house 
and  send  him — at  once,"  Webster  said,  his 
voice  low,  and  broken.  "  He's  the  coroner, 
too." 

Hastings  continued  his  examination.  The 
brief  pause  that  ensued  was  broken  by  a  woman's 
voice : 

"Pauline!     Pauline!" 

The  call  came  from  one  of  the  upstairs  win- 


16  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

dows.  Hearing  it,  a  woman  in  the  servant  group 
hurried  into  the  house. 

Webster  groaned :  "  My  God !  " 

"  Frantic  fiends !  It  gets  worse  and  worse ! " 
Sloane  objected  shrilly.  "  My  nerves !  And 
Lucille's  annoyed — shocked !  " 

He  held  the  smelling  bottle  to  his  nose,  breath- 
ing deeply. 

"Here!  Take  this!"  Hastings  directed,  and 
put  up  his  hand  abruptly. 

Sloane  had  so  gone  to  pieces  that  the  move- 
ment frightened  him.  He  stepped  back  in  such 
obvious  terror  that  a  hoarse  guffaw  of  invol- 
untary ridicule  escaped  one  of  the  servants.  The 
detective,  finding  that  his  kneeling  posture  made 
it  difficult  to  put  his  handkerchief  back  into  his 
trousers  pocket,  had  thrust  it  toward  Sloane. 
That  gentleman  having  so  suddenly  removed 
himself  out  of  reach,  Hastings  stuck  the  handker- 
chief into  Judge  Wilton's  coat-pocket. 

Arthur  Sloane,  the  detective  said  later,  never 
forgave  him  that  unexpected  wave  of  the  hand- 
kerchief— and  the  servant's  ridiculing  laugh. 

Hastings  looked  up  to  Wilton. 

"  Did  you  find  any  weapon?  " 

"  I  didn't  look— didn't  take  time." 

"  Neither  did  I,"  young  Webster  added. 

Hastings,  disregarding  the  wet  grass,  was  on 
his  hands  and  knees,  searching.  He  accom- 


THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN         17 

plished  a  complete  circuit  of  the  body,  his  round- 
shouldered,  stooping  figure  making  grotesque, 
elephantine  shadows  under  the  light  of  the  torch 
as  he  moved  about  slowly,  not  trusting  his  eyes, 
but  feeling  with  his  hands  every  inch  of  the 
smallest,  half-lit  spaces. 

Nobody  else  took  part  in  the  search.  Having 
accepted  his  leadership  from  the  outset,  they 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  he  needed 
no  help.  Mentally  benumbed  by  the  horror  of 
the  tragedy,  they  stood  there  in  the  quiet,  sum- 
mer night,  barren  of  ideas.  They  were  like 
children,  waiting  to  be  instructed. 

Hastings  stood  erect,  pulling  and  hauling  at 
his  trousers. 

"Can't  find  a  knife  or  anything,"  he  said. 
"  Glad  I  can't.  Hope  he  took  it  with  him." 

"Why?"  asked  Sloane,  through  chattering 
teeth. 

"  May  help  us  to  find  him — may  be  a  clue  in 
the  end." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  squinting  under  the 
rims  of  his  spectacles,  looking  down  at  the  fig- 
ure of  the  dead  woman.  He  had  already  cov- 
ered the  face  with  the  hat  she  had  worn,  a  black 
straw  sailor;  but  neither  he  nor  the  others  found 
it  easy  to  forget  the  peculiar  and  forbidding  ex- 
pression the  features  wore,  even  in  death.  It 
was  partly  fear,  partly  defiance — as  if  her  last 


18  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

conscious  thought  had  been  a  flitting  look  into 
the  future,  an  exulting  recognition  of  the  certain 
consequences  of  the  blow  that  had  struck  her 
down. 

Put  into  words,  it  might  have  been :  "  You've 
murdered  me,  but  you'll  pay  for  it — terribly !  " 

A  servant  handed  Hastings  the  blanket  he  had 
ordered.  He  looked  toward  the  sky. 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  rain  any  more,"  he 
said.  "  And  it's  best  to  leave  things  as  they  are 
until  the  coroner  arrives. — He'll  be  here  soon?  " 

"  Should  get  here  in  half  an  hour  or  so,"  Judge 
Wilton  informed  him. 

The  detective  arranged  the  blanket  so  that  it 
covered  the  prone  form  completely,  leaving  the 
hat  over  the  face  as  he  had  first  placed  it.  With 
the  exception  of  the  hat,  he  had  disturbed  no  part 
of  the  apparel.  Even  the  folds  of  the  raincoat, 
which  fell  away  from  the  body  and  showed  the 
rain-soaked  black  skirt,  he  left  as  he  had  found 
them.  The  white  shirtwaist,  also  partly  ex- 
posed now,  was  dry. 

"  Anybody  move  her  hat  before  I  came  out?  " 
he  asked;  "you,  judge;  or  you,  Mr.  Webster?" 

They  had  not  touched  it,  they  said ;  it  was  on 
the  grass,  beside  her  head,  when  they  discov- 
ered the  body,  and  they  had  left  it  there. 

Again  he  was  silent,  brows  drawn  together 
as  he  stood  over  the  murdered  woman.  Finally, 


THE  WOMAN  ON  THE  LAWN         19 

he  raised  his  head  swiftly  and,  taking  each  in 
turn,  searched  sharply  the  countenances  of  the 
three  men  before  him. 

"  Does — didn't  anybody  here  know  this 
woman?  "  he  asked. 

Berne  Webster  left  his  place  at  the  opposite 
side  of  the  body  and  came  close  to  Hastings. 

"  I  know  who  she  is,"  he  said,  his  voice  lower 
even  than  before,  as  if  he  wished  to  keep  that 
information  from  the  servants. 

Hastings'  keen  scrutiny  had  in  it  no  intimation 
of  surprise.  Waiting  for  Webster  to  continue, 
he  was  addressed  by  the  shivering  Mr.  Sloane : 

"  Mr.  Hast — Mr.  Hastings,  take  charge  of 
— of  things.  Will  you?  You  know  about  these 
things." 

The  detective  accepted  the  suggestion. 

"  Suppose  we  get  at  what  we  know  about  it 
— what  we  all  know.  Let's  go  inside."  He 
turned  to  the  servants :  "  Stay  here  until  you're 
called.  See  that  nothing  is  disturbed,  nothing 
touched." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  house.  Sloane,  near 
collapse,  clung  to  one  of  Judge  Wilton's  broad 
shoulders.  It  was  young  Webster  who,  as  the 
little  procession  passed  the  hatrack  in  the  front 
hall,  caught  up  a  raincoat  and  threw  it  over  the 
half-clad  Hastings. 


Ill 

THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS 

IN  the  library  Hastings  turned  first  to  Judge 
Wilton  for  a  description  of  the  discovery 
of  the  body.  The  judge  was  in  better  con- 
dition than  the  others  for  connected  narrative, 
Arthur  Sloane  had  sunk  into  a  morris  chair, 
where  he  sighed  audibly  and  plied  himself  by 
fits  and  starts  with  the  aroma  from  the  bottle  of 
smelling  salts.  Young  Webster,  still  breathing 
as  if  he  had  been  through  exhausting  physical 
endeavour,  stood  near  the  table  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  mechanicall*;  shifting  his  weight  from 
foot  to  foot. 

Wilton,  seated  half-across  the  room  from 
Hastings,  drew,  absently,  on  a  dead  cigar-stump. 
A  certain  rasping  note  in  his  voice  was  his  only 
remaining  symptom  of  shock.  He  had  the  stern 
calmness  of  expression  that  is  often  seen  in  the 
broad,  irregularly-featured  face  in  early  middle 
age. 

"  I  can  tell  you  in  very  few  words,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  detective  directly.  "  We  all  left 
this  room,  you'll  remember,  at  eleven  o'clock. 
20 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         21 

I  found  my  bedroom  uncomfortable,  too  warm. 
Besides,  it  had  stopped  raining.  When  I  no- 
ticed that,  I  decided  to  go  out  and  smoke  my 
good-night  cigar.  This  is  what's  left  of  it." 

He  put  a  finger  to  the  unlighted  stump  still 
between  his  lips. 

"  What  time  did  you  go  out?  "  asked  Hastings. 

"  Probably,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  I'd  gone 
upstairs — fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  past  eleven, 
I  should  guess." 

"  How  did  you  go  out — by  what  door?  " 

"  The  front  door.  I  left  it  unlocked,  but  not 
open.  At  first  I  paced  up  and  down,  on  the 
south  side  of  the  house,  under  the  trees.  It  was 
reasonably  light  there  then — that  is  to  say,  the 
clouds  had  thinned  a  little,  and,  after  my  eyes 
had  got  accustomed  to  it,  I  had  no  trouble  in 
avoiding  the  trees  and  shrubbery. 

"  Then  a  cloud  heavier  than  the  others  came 
up,  I  suppose.  Anyway,  it  was  much  darker. 
There  wasn't  a  light  in  the  house,  except  in  my 
room  and  Berne  Webster's.  Yours  was  out,  I 
remember.  I  passed  by  the  front  of  the  house 
then,  and  went  around  to  the  north  side.  It 
was  darker  there,  I  thought,  than  it  had  been 
under  the  trees  on  the  south  side." 

"  How  long  had  you  been  out  then,  al- 
together? " 

"  Thirty  or  forty  minutes."    He  looked  at  his 


22  "NO  CLUE!" 

watch.  "  It's  a  quarter  past  twelve  now.  Let 
me  see.  I  found  the  body  a  few  minutes  after 
I  changed  over  to  the  north  side.  I  guess  I 
found  it  about  five  minutes  before  midnight — 
certainly  not  more  than  twenty  minutes  ago." 

Hastings  betrayed  his  impatience  only  by 
squinting  under  his  spectacles  and  down  the  line 
of  his  nose,  eying  Wilton  closely. 

"All  right,  judge!    Let's  have  it." 

"  I  was  going  along  slowly,  very  slowly,  not 
doing  much  more  than  feeling  my  way  with 
my  feet  on  the  close-shaven  grass.  It  was  the 
darkest  night  I  ever  saw.  Literally,  I  couldn't 
have  seen  my  hand  in  front  of  me. 

"  I  had  decided  to  turn  about  and  go  indoors 
when  I  was  conscious  of  some  movement,  or 
slight  sound,  directly  in  front  of  me,  and  down- 
ward, at  my  feet.  I  got  that  impression." 

"What  movement?  You  mean  the  sound  of 
a  fall?  " 

"No;  not  that  exactly." 

"A  footstep?" 

"  No.  I  hadn't  any  definite  idea  what  sort  of 
noise  it  was.  I  did  think  that,  perhaps,  it  was 
a  dog  or  a  cat.  Just  then  my  foot  came  in 
contact  with  something  soft.  I  stooped  down 
instinctively,  immediately. 

"At  that  moment,  that  very  second,  a  light 
flashed  on  in  Arthur's  bedroom.  That's  between 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         23 

this  room  and  the  big  ballroom — on  this  floor, 
of  course.  That  light  threw  a  long,  illuminating 
shaft  into  the  murky  darkness,  the  end  of  it 
coming  just  far  enough  to  touch  me  and — what 
I  found — the  woman's  body.  I  saw  it  by  that 
light  before  I  had  time  to  touch  it  with  my 
hand." 

The  judge  stopped  and  drew  heavily  on  his 
dead  cigar. 

"All  right.  See  anything  else?"  Hastings 
urged. 

"Yes;  I  saw  Berne  Webster.  He  had  made 
the  noise  which  attracted  my  attention." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  " 

"  He  Tnust  have.  He  was  stooping  down,  too, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  body,  facing  me,  when 
the  light  went  on " 

Sloane,  twisting  nervously  in  his  chair,  cut 
into  Wilton's  narrative. 

"  I  can  put  this  much  straight,"  he  said  in 
shrill  complaint :  "  I  turned  on  the  light  you're 
talking  about.  I  hadn't  been  able  to  sleep." 

"  Let's  have  this,  one  at  a  time,  if  you  don't 
mind,  Mr.  Sloane,"  the  detective  suggested, 
watching  Webster. 

The  young  man,  staring  with  fascinated  inten- 
sity at  Judge  Wilton,  seemed  to  experience  some 
new  horror  as  he  listened. 

"  He  was  on  the  other  side  of  it,"  the  judge 


24  "NO  CLUE!"  , 

continued,  "  and  practically  in  the  same  posi- 
tion that- 1  was.  We  faced  each  other  across 
the  body.  I  think  that  describes  the  discovery, 
as  you  call  it.  We  immediately  examined  the 
woman,  looking  for  the  wound,  and  found  it. 
When  we  saw  she  was  dead,  we  came  in  to  wake 
you — and  try  to  get  a  doctor.  I  told  Berne  to 
do  that." 

During  the  last  few  sentences  Hastings  had 
been  walking  slowly  from  his  chair  to  the  library 
door  and  back,  his  hands  gouged  deep  into  his 
trouser-pockets,  folds  of  his  night-shirt  protrud- 
ing from  and  falling  over  the  waistband  of  the 
trousers,  the  raincoat  hanging  baggily  from  his 
shoulders.  Ludicrous  as  the  costume  was,  how- 
ever, the  old  man  so  dominated  them  still  that 
none  of  them,  not  even  Wilton,  questioned  his 
authority. 

And  yet,  the  thing  he  was  doing  should  have 
appealed  to  them  as  noteworthy.  A  man  of 
less  power  could  not  have  accomplished  it. 
Coming  from  a  sound  sleep  to  the  scene  of  a 
murder,  he  had  literally  picked  up  these  men 
who  had  discovered  it  and  who  must  be  closely 
touched  by  it,  had  overcome  their  agitation,  had 
herded  them  into  the  house  and,  with  amazing 
promptness,  had  set  about  the  task  of  getting 
from  them  the  stories  of  what  they  knew  and 
what  they  had  done. 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         25 

Appreciating  his  opportunity,  he  had  deter- 
mined to  bring  to  light  at  once  everything  they 
knew.  He  devoted  sudden  attention  now  to  Web- 
ster, whom  he  knew  by  reputation — a  lawyer 
thirty  years  of  age,  brilliant  in  the  criminal 
courts,  and  at  present  striving  for  a  foothold  in 
the  more  remunerative  ranks  of  civil  practice. 
He  had  never  been  introduced  to  him,  however, 
before  meeting  him  at  Sloanehurst. 

"Who  touched  that  body  first— Mr.  Web- 
ster? "  he  demanded,  his  slow  promenade  unin- 
terrupted as  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  law- 
yer's. 

"  Judge — I  don't  know,  I  believe,"  Webster  re- 
plied uncertainly.  "  Who  did,  judge?  " 

"  I  want  your  recollection,"  Hastings  insisted, 
kindly  in  spite  of  the  unmistakable  command 
of  his  tone.  "  That's  why  I  asked  you." 

"Why?" 

"  For  one  thing,  it  might  go  far  toward  show- 
ing who  was  really  first  on  the  scene." 

"  I  see;  but  I  really  don't  remember.  I'm  not 
sure  that  either  of  us  touched  the  body — jusi- 
then.  I  think  we  both  drew  back,  instinctively, 
when  the  light  flashed  on.  Afterwards,  of  course, 
we  both  touched  her — looking  for  signs  of 
life." 

The  detective  came  to  a  standstill  in  front  of 
Webster. 


26  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

"  Who  reached  the  body  first?    Can  you  say?  " 

"  No.  I  don't  think  either  was  first.  We  got 
there  together." 

"  Simultaneously?  " 

"  Yes." 

"But  I'm  overlooking  something.  How  did 
you  happen  to  be  there?  " 

"That's  simple  enough,"  Webster  said,  his 
brows  drawn  together,  his  eyes  toward  the  floor, 
evidently  making  great  effort  to  omit  no  de- 
tail of  what  had  oeccurred.  "  I  went  to  my 
room  when  we  broke  up  here,  at  eleven.  I  read 
for  a  while.  I  got  tired  of  that — it  was  close 
and  hot.  Besides,  I  never  go  to  bed  before  one 
in  the  morning — that  is,  practically  never.  And 
I  wasn't  sleepy. 

"  I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  a  quarter  to 
twelve.  Like  the  judge,  I  noticed  that  it  had 
stopped  raining.  I  thought  I'd  have  a  better 
night's  sleep  if  I  got  out  and  cooled  off  thor- 
oughly. My  room,  the  one  I  have  this  time,  is 
close  to  the  back  stairway.  I  went  down  that, 
and  out  the  door  on  the  north  side." 

"  Were  you  smoking? "  Hastings  put  the 
query  sharply,  as  if  to  test  the  narrator's  nerves. 

Webster's  frown  deepened. 

"  No.  But  I  had  cigarettes  and  matches  with 
me.  I  intended  to  smoke — and  walk  about." 

"  But  what  happened?  " 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         27 

"  It  was  so  much  darker  than  I  had  thought 
that  I  groped  along  with  my  feet,  much  as 
Judge  Wilton  did.  I  was  making  my  way 
toward  the  front  verandah.  I  went  on,  sliding 
my  feet  on  the  wet  grass." 

"Any  reason  for  doing  that,  do  you  remem- 
ber? Are  there  any  obstructions  there,  anything 
but  smooth,  open  lawn?  " 

"No.  It  was  merely  an  instinctive  act — in 
pitch  dark,  you  know." 

Webster,  his  eyes  still  toward  the  floor,  waited 
for  another  question.  Not  getting  it,  he  re- 
sumed : 

"  My  foot  struck  something  soft.  I  thought  it 
was  a  wet  cloak,  something  of  that  sort,  left  out 
in  the  rain.  I  hadn't  heard  a  thing.  And  I  had 
no  premonition  of  anything  wrong.  I  bent  over, 
with  nothing  more  than  sheer  idle  curiosity,  to 
put  my  hand  on  whatever  the  thing  was.  And 
just  then  the  light  went  on  in  Mr.  Sloane's  bed- 
room. The  judge  and  I  were  looking  at  each 
other  across  somebody  lying  on  the  ground,  face 
upward." 

"  Either  of  you  cry  out?  " 

«  No." 

"  Say  anything?  " 

«  Not  much." 

«  Well,  what?  " 

"  I  remember  the  judge  said,  '  Is  she  dead? ' 


28  "NO  CLUE!" 

I  said,  '  How  is  she  hurt?  '  We  didn't  say  much 
while  we  were  looking  for  the  wound." 

"  Did  you  tell  Judge  Wilton  you  knew  her?  " 

"  No.  There  wasn't  time  for  any  explanation 
— specially." 

"  But  you  do  know  her?  " 

"  I  told  you  that,  sir,  outside — just  now." 

"All  right.  Who  is  she?"  Hastings  put 
that  query  carelessly,  in  a  way  which  might 
have  meant  that  he  had  heard  the  most  impor- 
tant part  of  the  young  lawyer's  story.  That 
impression  was  heightened  by  his  beginning 
again  to  pace  the  floor. 

"  Her  name's  Mildred  Brace,"  replied  Web- 
ster, moistening  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  "  She 
was  my  stenographer  for  eight  months." 

The  detective  drew  up  sharply. 

"When?" 

"  Until  two  weeks  ago." 

"She  resign?" 

«  Yes.    No— I  discharged  her." 

"What  for?" 

"  Incompetence." 

"  I  don't  understand  that  exactly.  You  mean 
you  employed  her  eight  months  although  she 
was  incompetent?  " 

"That's  pretty  bald,"  Webster  objected. 
"  Her  incompetence  came,  rather,  from  tempera- 
ment. She  was,  toward  the  last,  too  nervous, 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         29 

excitable.  She  was  more  trouble  than  she  was 
worth." 

"Ah,  that's  different,"  Hastings  said,  with  a 
significance  that  was  clear.  "  People  might  have 
thought,"  he  elaborated,  "  if  you  had  fired  her 
for  other  reasons,  this  tragedy  tonight  would 
have  put  you  in  an  unenviable  position — to  say 
the  least." 

He  had  given  words  to  the  vague  feeling  which 
had  depressed  them  all,  ever  since  the  discovery 
of  the  murder;  that  here  was  something  vastly 
greater  than  the  accidental  finding  of  a  person 
killed  by  an  outsider,  that  the  crime  touched 
Sloanehurst  personally.  The  foreboding  had 
been  patent — almost,  it  seemed,  a  tangible  thing 
— but,  until  this  moment,  each  had  steered  clear 
of  it,  in  speech. 

Webster's  response  was  bitter. 

"  They'll  want  to  say  it  anyway,  I  guess."  To 
that  he  added,  in  frank  resentment :  "  And  I 
might  as  well  enter  a  denial  here :  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the — this  whole  lamentable  affair !  " 

The  silence  in  which  he  and  Hastings  regarded 
each  other  was  broken  by  Arthur  Sloane's  queru- 
lous words: 

"  Why — why,  in  the  name  of  all  the  inscrutable 
saints,  this  thing  should  have  happened  at 
Sloanehurst,  is  more  than  I  can  say !  Jumping 
angels!  Now,  let  me  tell  you  what  I " 


30  "NO  CLUE!" 

He  stopped,  hearing  light  footfalls  coming 
down  the  hall.  There  was  the  swish  of  silk,  a 
little  outcry  half-repressed,  and  Lucille  Sloane 
stood  in  the  doorway.  One  hand  was  at  her 
breast,  the  other  against  the  door-frame,  to 
steady  her  tall,  slightly  swaying  figure.  Her 
hair,  a  pyramid  on  her  head,  as  if  the  black, 
heavy  masses  of  it  had  been  done  by  hurrying 
fingers,  gave  to  her  unusual  beauty  now  an 
added  suggestion  of  dignity. 

Profoundly  moved  as  she  was,  there  was  noth- 
ing of  the  distracted  or  the  inadequate  about  her. 
Hastings,  who  had  admired  her  earlier  in  the 
evening,  saw  that  her  poise  was  far  from  over- 
thrown. It  seemed  to  him  that  she  even  had 
considered  how  to  wear  with  extraordinary  effect 
the  brilliant,  vari-coloured  kimono  draped  about 
her.  The  only  criticism  of  her  possible  was  that, 
perhaps,  she  seemed  a  trifle  too  imperious — but, 
for  his  part,  he  liked  that. 

"  A  thoroughbred !  "  he  catalogued  her,  men- 
tally. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  father,"  she  said  from 
the  doorway,  "  but  I  couldn't  help  hearing." 
She  thrust  forward  her  chin.  "  Oh,  I  had  to 
hear! — And  there's  something  I  have  to  tell." 

Her  glance  went  at  last  from  Sloane  to  Hast- 
ings as  she  advanced  slowly  into  the  room. 

The  detective  pushed  forward  a  chair  for  her. 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         31 

"That's  fine,  Miss  Sloane,"  he  assured  her. 
"  I'm  sure  you're  going  to  help  us." 

"  It  isn't  much,"  she  qualified,  "  but  I  think 
it's  important." 

Still  she  looked  at  neither  Berne  Webster  nor 
Judge  Wilton.  And  only  a  man  trained  as 
Hastings  was  to  keenness  of  observation  would 
have  seen  the  slight  but  incessant  tremour  of  her 
fingers  and  the  constant,  convulsive  play  of  the 
muscles  under  the  light  covering  of  her  black 
silk  slippers. 

Sloane,  alone,  had  remained  seated.  She  was 
looking  up  to  Hastings,  who  stood  several  feet 
in  front  of  Webster  and  the  judge. 

"  I  had  gone  to  sleep,"  she  said,  her  voice  low, 
but  musical  and  clear.  "  I  waked  up  when  I 
heard  father  moving  about — his  room  is  directly 
under  mine;  and,  now  that  Aunt  Lucy  is  away, 
I'm  always  more  or  less  anxious  about  him. 
And  I  knew  he  had  got  quiet  earlier,  gone  to 
sleep.  It  wasn't  like  him  to  be  awake  again  so 
soon. 

"  I  sprang  out  of  bed,  really  very  quickly.  I 
listened  for  a  few  seconds,  but  there  was  no 
further  sound  in  father's  room.  The  night  was 
unusually  quiet.  There  wasn't  a  sound — at  first. 
Then  I  heard  something.  It  was  like  somebody 
running,  running  very  fast,  outside,  on  the 
grass." 


32  "NO  CLUE!" 

She  paused.  Hastings  was  struck  by  her  air 
of  alertness,  or  of  prepared  waiting,  of  readiness 
for  questions. 

"  Which  way  did  the  footsteps  go?  "  he  asked. 

"  From  the  house — down  the  slope,  toward  the 
little  gate  that  opens  on  the  road." 

"Then  what?" 

"  I  wondered  idly  what  it  meant,  but  it  made 
no  serious  impression  on  me.  I  listened  again 
for  sounds  in  father's  room.  There  was  none. 
Struck  again  by  the  heavy  silence — it  was  almost 
oppressive,  coming  after  the  rain — I  went  to  the 
window.  I  stood  there,  I  don't  know  how  long. 
I  think  I  was  day-dreaming,  lazily  running 
things  over  in  my  mind.  I  don't  think  it  was 
very  long. 

"  And  then  father  turned  on  the  light  in  his 
room."  She  made  a  quick  gesture  with  her  left 
hand,  wonderfully  expressive  of  shock.  "  I  shall 
never  forget  that!  The  long,  narrow  panel  of 
light  reached  out  into  the  dark  like  an  ugly, 
yellow  arm — reached  out  just  far  enough  to 
touch  and  lay  hold  of  the  picture  there  on  the 
grass;  a  woman  lying  on  the  drenched  ground, 
her  face  up,  and  bending  over  her  Judge  Wil- 
ton and  Berne — Mr.  Webster. 

"  I  knew  she'd  been  hurt  dreadfully ;  her  feet 
were  drawn  up,  her  knees  high ;  and  I  could  see 
the  looks  of  horror  on  the  men's  faces." 


THE  UNEXPECTED  WITNESS         33 

She  paused,  giving  all  her  strength  to  the 
effort  to  retain  her  self-control  before  the  assail- 
ing memory  of  what  she  had  seen. 

"  That  was  all,  Miss  Sloane?  "  the  detective 
prompted,  in  a  kindly  tone. 

"Yes,  quite,"  she  said.  "But  I'd  heard 
Berne's — what  he  was  saying  to  you — and  the 
judge's  description  of  what  they'd  seen;  and  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  know  of  the  footsteps 
I'd  heard — because  they  were  the  murderer's; 
they  must  have  been.  I  knew  it  was  important, 
most  important." 

"  You  were  entirely  right,"  he  agreed  warmly. 
"Thank  you,  very  much." 

He  went  the  length  of  the  room  and  halted 
by  one  of  the  bookcases,  a  weird,  lumpy  old  fig- 
ure among  the  shadows  in  the  corner.  He  was 
scraping  his  cheek  with  his  thumb,  and  looking 
at  the  ceiling,  over  the  rims  of  his  specta- 
cles. 

Arthur  Sloane  sighed  his  impatience. 

"Those  knees  drawn  up,"  Hastings  said  at 
last ;  "  I  was  just  thinking.  They  weren't  drawn 
up  when  I  saw  the  body.  Were  they?  " 

"We'd  straightened  the  limbs,"  Webster  an- 
swered. "  Thought  I'd  mentioned  that." 

"  No. — Then,  there  might  have  been  a  struggle? 
You  think  the  woman  had  put  up  a  fight — for  her 
life? — and  was  overpowered?  " 


34  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Well,"  deliberated  Webster,  "  perhaps ;  even 
probably." 

"  Strange,"  commented  the  detective,  eqnally 
deliberate.  "  I  hadn't  thought  so.  I  would  have 
said  she'd  been  struck  down  unawares — without 
the  slightest  warning." 


IV 

HASTINGS  IS  RETAINED 

ARRIVAL  of  the  officials,  Sheriff  Crown  and 
the  coroner,  Dr.  Garnet,  brought  the  con- 
ference to  an  abrupt  close.  Hastings, 
seeing  the  look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  left  the  library 
in  advance  of  the  other  men.  Lucille  followed 
him  immediately. 

"Mr.  Hastings!" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Sloane?  " 

He  turned  and  faced  her. 

"  I  must  talk  to  you,  alone.  Won't  you  come 
in  here?  " 

She  preceded  him  into  the  parlour  across  the 
hall.  When  he  put  his  hand  on  the  electric 
switch,  she  objected,  saying  she  preferred  to  be 
without  the  lights.  He  obeyed  her.  The  glow 
from  the  hall  was  strong  enough  to  show  him 
the  play  of  her  features — which  was  what  he 
wanted. 

They  sat  facing  each  other,  directly  under  the 
chandelier  in  the  middle  of  the  spacious  room. 
He  thought  she  had  chosen  that  place  to  avoid 

35 


36  "NO  CLUE!" 

all  danger  of  being  overheard  in  any  direction. 
He  saw,  too,  that  she  was  hesitant,  half -regret- 
ting having  brought  him  there.  He  read  her 
doubts,  saw  how  pain  and  anxiety  mingled  in 
her  wide-open  grey  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said  with  a  smile  that  was 
reassuring ;  "  I  don't  look  like  a  particularly 
helpful  old  party,  do  I?" 

He  liked  her  more  and  more.  In  presence  of 
mind,  he  reflected,  she  surpassed  the  men  of 
the  household.  In  spite  of  the  agitation  that 
still  kept  her  hands  trembling  and  gave  her 
that  odd  look  of  fighting  desperately  to  hold  her- 
self together,  she  had  formed  a  plan  which  she 
was  on  the  point  of  disclosing  to  him. 

Her  courage  impressed  him  tremendously. 
And,  divining  what  her  request  would  be,  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  help  her. 

"  It's  not  that,"  she  said,  her  lips  twisting  to 
the  pretence  of  a  smile.  "  I  know  your  repu- 
tation— how  brilliant  you  are.  I  was  thinking 
you  might  not  understand  what  I  wanted  to 
say." 

"  Try  me,"  he  encouraged.  "  I'm  not  that 
old!" 

It  occurred  to  him  that  she  referred  to  Berne 
Webster  and  herself,  fearing,  perhaps,  his  lack 
of  sympathy  for  a  love  affair. 

"It's  this,"  she  began  a  rush  of  words,  put- 


HASTINGS  IS  RETAINED  37 

ting  away  all  reluctance :  "  I  think  I  realize  more 
keenly  than  father  how  disagreeable  this  awful 
thing  is  going  to  be — the  publicity,  the  news- 
papers, the  questions,  the  photographs.  I  know, 
too,  that  Mr.  Webster's  in  an  unpleasant  situa- 
tion. I  heard  what  he  said  to  you  in  the  library, 
every  word  of  it. — But  I  don't  have  to  think 
about  him  so  much  as  about  my  father.  He's  a 
very  sick  man,  Mr.  Hastings.  The  shock  of 
this,  the  resultant  shocks  lasting  through  days 
and  weeks,  may  be  fatal  for  him. 

"Besides,"  she  explained,  attaining  greater 
composure,  "  he  is  so  nervous,  so  impatient  of. 
discomfort  and  irritating  things,  that  he  may 
bring  upon  himself  the  enmity  of  the  authorities, 
the  investigators.  He  may  easily  provoke  them 
so  that  they  would  do  anything  to  annoy  him. 

"  I  see  you  don't  understand !  "  she  lamented 
suddenly,  turning  her  head  away  a  little. 

He  could  see  how  her  lips  trembled,  as  if  she 
held  them  together  only  by  immense  resolution. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  he  contradicted  kindly.  "  You 
want  my  help;  isn't  that  it?" 

"  Yes."  She  looked  at  him  again,  with  a  quick 
turn  of  her  head,  her  eyes  less  wide-open  while 
she  searched  his  face.  "  I  want  to  employ  you. 
Can't  I — what  do  they  call  it? — retain  you?  " 

"To  do  what,  exactly?" 

"Oh-h-h!"    The  exclamation  had  the  hint  of 


38  "NO  CLUE!" 

a  sob  in  it;  she  was  close  to  the  end  of  her 
strength.  "  I'm  a  little  uncertain  about  that. 
Can't  you  help  me  there?  I  want  the  real  crim- 
inal found  soon,  immediately,  as  soon  as  possible. 
I  want  you  to  work  on  that.  And,  in  the  mean- 
time, I  want  you  to  protect  us — father — do 
things  so  that  we  shan't  be  overrun  by  reporters 
and  detectives,  all  the  dreadful  results  of  the 
discovery  of  a  murder  at  our  very  front  door." 

He  was  thoughtful,  looking  into  her  eyes. 

"  The  fee  is  of  no  matter,  the  amount  of  it," 
she  added  impulsively. 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that — although,  of 
course,  I  don't  despise  fees.  You  see,  the  author- 
ities, the  sheriff,  might  not  want  my  assistance, 
as  you  call  it.  Generally,  they  don't.  They  look 
upon  it  as  interference  and  meddling." 

"  Still,  you  can  work  independently — retained 
by  Mr.  Arthur  Sloane — can't  you?  " 

He  studied  her  further.  For  her  age — hardly 
more  than  twenty-two — she  was  strikingly  ma- 
ture of  face,  and  self-reliant.  She  had,  he  con- 
cluded, unusual  strength  of  purpose;  she  was 
capable  of  large  emotionalism,  but  mere  feeling 
would  never  cloud  her  mind. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  her ;  "  I  can  do  that.  I 
will." 

"  Ah,"  she  breathed,  some  of  the  tenseness  go- 
ing out  of  her,  "  you  are  very  good !  " 


HASTINGS  IS  RETAINED  39 

"  And  you  will  help  me,  of  course." 

«  Of  course." 

"  You  can  do  so  now,"  he  pressed  this  point. 
"  Why  is  it  that  all  of  you — I  noticed  it  in  the 
men  in  the  library,  and  when  we  were  outside, 
on  the  lawn — why  is  it  that  all  of  you  think  this 
crime  is  going  to  hit  you,  one  of  you,  so  hard? 
You  seem  to  acknowledge  in  advance  the  guilt 
of  one  of  you." 

"Aren't  you  mistaken  about  that?" 

"  No.  It  struck  me  forcibly.  Didn't  you  feel 
it?  Don't  you,  now?  " 

"Why,  no!" 

He  was  certain  that  she  was  not  frank  with 
him. 

"  You  mean,"  she  added  quickly,  eyes  nar- 
rowed, "  I  suspect — actually  suspect  some  one 
in  this  house?  " 

In  his  turn,  he  was  non-committal,  retorting: 

"Don't  you?" 

She  resented  his  insistence. 

"  There  is  only  one  idea  possible,  I  think,"  she 
declared,  rising :  "  the  footsteps  that  I  heard  fled 
from  the  house,  not  into  it.  The  murderer  is 
not  here." 

He  stood  up,  holding  her  gaze. 

"  I'm  your  representative  now,  Miss  Sloane," 
he  said,  his  manner  fatherly  in  its  solicitude. 
"  My  duty  is  to  save  you,  and  yours,  in  every 


40  "NO  CLUE!" 

way  I  can — without  breaking  the  law.  You  re- 
alize what  my  job  is — do  you?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Hastings." 

"  And  the  advisability,  the  necessity,  of  utter 
frankness  between  us?  " 

"  Yes."  She  said  that  with  obvious  impa- 
tience. 

"  So,"  he  persisted,  "  you  understand  my  mo- 
tive in  asking  you  now:  is  there  nothing  more 
you  can  tell  me — of  what  you  heard  and  saw, 
when  you  were  at  your  window?  " 

"  Nothing — absolutely,"  she  said,  again  obvi- 
ously annoyed. 

He  was  close  to  a  refusal  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  case.  He  was  sure  that  she 
did  not  deal  openly  with  him.  He  tried 
again : 

"  Nothing  more,  Miss  Sloane?  Think,  please. 
Nothing  to  make  you,  us,  more  suspicious  of 
Mr.  Webster?  " 

"Suspect  Berne!" 

This  time  she  was  frank,  he  saw  at  once.  The 
idea  of  the  young  lawyer's  guilt  struck  her  as 
out  of  the  question.  Her  confidence  in  that  was 
genuine,  unalloyed.  It  was  so  emphatic  that  it 
surprised  him.  Why,  then,  this  anxiety  which 
had  driven  her  to  him  for  help?  What  caused 
the  fear  which,  at  the  beginning  of  their  inter- 
view, had  been  so  apparent? 


HASTINGS  IS  RETAINED  41 

He  thought  with  great  rapidity,  turning  the 
thing  over  in  his  mind  as  he  stood  confronting 
her.  If  she  did  not  suspect  Webster,  whom 
did  she  suspect?  Her  father? 

That  was  it ! — her  father ! 

The  discovery  astounded  Hastings — and  ap- 
pealed to  his  sympathy,  tremendously. 

"  My  poor  child ! "  he  said,  on  the  warm  im- 
pulse of  his  compassion. 

She  chose  to  disregard  the  tone  he  had  used. 
She  took  a  step  toward  the  door,  and  paused, 
to  see  that  he  followed  her. 

He  went  nearer  to  her,  to  conclude  what  he 
had  wanted  to  say: 

"  I  shall  rely  on  this  agreement  between  us : 
I  can  come  to  you  on  any  point  that  occurs  to 
me?  You  will  give  me  anything,  and  all  the 
things,  that  may  come  to  your  knowledge  as 
the  investigation  proceeds?  Is  it  a  bargain,  Miss 
Sloane?  " 

"  A  bargain,  Mr.  Hastings,"  she  assented.  "  I 
appreciate,  as  well  as  you  do,  the  need  of  fair 
dealing  between  us.  Anything  else  would  be 
foolish." 

"  Fine !  That's  great,  Miss  Sloane !  "  He  was 
still  sorry  for  her.  "  Now,  let  me  be  sure,  once 
for  all:  you're  concealing  nothing  from  me,  no 
little  thing  even,  on  the  theory  that  it  would  be 
of  no  use  to  me  and,  therefore,  not  worth  dis- 


42  "NO  CLUE!" 

cussing?  You  told  us  all  you  knew — in  the 
library?  " 

She  moved  toward  the  door  to  the  hall  again. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Hastings — and  I'm  at  your  service 
altogether." 

He  would  have  sworn  that  she  was  not  telling 
the  truth.  This  time,  however,  he  had  no  thought 
of  declining  connection  with  the  case.  His  com- 
passion for  her  had  grown. 

Besides,  her  fear  of  her  father's  implication 
in  the  affair — was  there  foundation  for  it,  more 
foundation  than  the  hasty  thought  of  a  daugh- 
ter still  labouring  under  the  effects  of  a  great 
shock?  He  thought  of  Sloane,  effeminate,  shrill 
of  voice,  a  trembling  wreck,  long  ago  a  self-con- 
fessed ineffective  in  the  battle  of  life — he,  a  mur- 
derer;  he,  capable  of  forceful  action  of  any  kind? 
It  seemed  impossible. 

But  the  old  man  kept  that  idea  to  himself,  and 
instructed  Lucille. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  "  you  must  leave  things  to 
me.  Tell  your  father  so.  Tomorrow,  for  in- 
stance— rather  this  morning,  for  it's  already  a 
new  day — reporters  will  come  out  here,  and  de- 
tectives, and  the  sheriff.  All  of  them  will  want 
to  question  you,  your  father,  all  the  members 
of  the  household.  Refer  them  to  me,  if  you 
•care  to. 

"  If  you  discuss  theories  and  possibilities,  you 


HASTINGS  IS  RETAINED  43 

will  only  make  trouble.  To  the  sheriff,  and  any- 
body representing  him,  state  the  facts,  the  bare 
facts — that's  all.  May  I  count  on  you  for 
that?  " 

"  Certainly.  That's  why  I've  cm — why  I  want 
your  help:  to  avoid  all  the  unpleasantness  pos- 
sible." 

When  she  left  him  to  go  to  her  father's  room, 
Hastings  joined  the  group  on  the  front  verandah. 
Sheriff  Crown  and  Dr.  Garnet  had  already 
viewed  the  body. 

"  I'll  hold  the  inquest  at  ten  tomorrow  morn- 
ing, rather  this  morning,"  the  coroner  said. 
"That's  hurrying  things  a  little,  but  I'll  have 
a  jury  here  by  then.  They  have  to  see  the  body 
before  it's  taken  to  Washington." 

"  Besides,"  observed^  the  sheriff,  "  nearly  all 
the  necessary  witnesses  are  here  in  this  house 
party." 

Aware  of  the  Hastings  fame,  he  drew  the  old 
man  to  one  side. 

"  I'm  going  into  Washington,"  he  announced, 
"  to  see  this  Mrs.  Brace,  the  girl's  mother.  Web- 
ster says  she  has  a  flat,  up  on  Fourteenth  street 
there.  Good  idea,  ain't  it?  " 

"Excellent,"  assured  Hastings,  and  put  in 
a  suggestion :  "  You've  heard  of  the  fleeting  foot- 
steps Miss  Sloane  reported?" 

"Yes.     I  thought  Mrs.  Brace  might  tell  me 


44  "NO  CLUE!" 

who  that  could  have  been — some  fellow  jealous 
of  the  girl,  I'll  bet." 

The  sheriff,  who  was  a  tall,  lanky  man  with  a 
high,  hooked  nose  and  a  pointed  chin  that  looked 
like  a  large  knuckle,  had  a  habit  of  thrusting 
forward  his  upper  lip  to  emphasize  his  words. 
He  thrust  it  forward  now,  making  his  bristly, 
close-cropped  red  moustache  stand  out  from  his 
face  like  the  quills  of  a  porcupine. 

"  I'd  thought  of  that — all  that,"  he  continued. 
"  Looks  like  a  simple  case  to  me — very." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Hastings,  sure  now  that 
Crown  would  not  suggest  their  working 
together. 

"  Also,"  the  sheriff  told  him,  "  I'll  take  this." 

He  held  out  the  crude  weapon  with  which, 
apparently,  the  murder  had  been  committed.  It 
was  a  dagger  consisting  of  a  sharpened  nail  file, 
about  three  inches  long,  driven  into  a  roughly 
rounded  piece  of  wood.  This  wooden  handle  was 
a  little  more  than  four  inches  in  length  and  two 
inches  thick.  Hastings,  giving  it  careful  exami- 
nation, commented: 

"  He  shaped  that  handle  with  a  pocket-knife. 
Then,  he  drove  the  butt-end  of  the  nail  file  into 
it.  Next,  he  sharpened  the  end  of  the  file — put 
a  razor  edge  on  it. — Where  did  you  get  this,  Mr. 
Crown?" 

"  A  servant,  one  of  the  coloured  women,  picked 


HASTINGS  IS  EETAINED  45 

it  up  as  I  came  in.    You  were  still  in  the  library." 

"  Where  was  it?  " 

"  About  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  from  the  body. 
She  stumbled  on  it,  in  the  grass.  Ugly  thing, 
sure ! " 

"  Yes,"  Hastings  said,  preoccupied,  and  added : 
"  Let  me  have  it  again." 

He  took  off  his  spectacles  and,  screwing  into 
his  right  eye  a  jeweller's  glass,  studied  it  for 
several  minutes.  If  he  made  an  important  dis- 
covery, he  did  not  communicate  it  to  Crown. 

"  It  made  an  ugly  hole,"  was  all  he  said. 

"  You  see  the  blood  on  it?  "  Crown  prompted. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  lucky  the  rain  stopped  when  it  did." 

"When  did  it  stop — out  here?"  Crown  in- 
quired. 

"  About  eleven ;  a  few  minutes  after  I'd  gone 
up  to  bed." 

"  So  she  was  killed  between  eleven  and  mid- 
night? " 

"No  doubt  about  that.  Her  hat  had  fallen 
from  her  head  and  was  bottom  up  beside  her. 
The  inside  of  the  crown  and  all  the  lower  brim 
was  dry  as  a  bone,  while  the  outside,  even  where 
it  did  not  touch  the  wet  grass,  was  wet.  That 
showed  there  wasn't  any  rain  after  she  was 
struck  down." 

The  sheriff  was  impressed  by  the  other's  keen- 
ness of  observation. 


46  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  That's  so,"  he  said.    "  I  hadn't  noticed  it." 

He  sought  the  detective's  opinion. 

"  Mr.  Hastings,  you've  just  heard  the  stories 
of  everybody  here.  Do  me  a  favour,  will  you? 
Is  it  worth  while  for  me  to  go  into  Washing- 
ton? Tell  me:  do  you  think  anybody  here  at 
Sloanehurst  is  responsible  for  this  murder?  " 

"  Mr.  Crown,"  the  old  man  answered,  "  there's 
no  proof  that  anybody  here  killed  that  woman." 

"  Just  what  I  thought,"  Mr.  Crown  applauded 
himself.  "  Glad  you  agree  with  me.  It'll  turn 
out  a  simple  case.  Wish  it  wouldn't.  Nominat- 
ing primary's  coming  on  in  less  than  a  month. 
I'd  get  a  lot  more  votes  if  I  ran  down  a  mys- 
terious fellow,  solved  a  tough  problem." 

He  strode  down  the  porch  steps  and  out  to 
his  car — for  the  ten-mile  run  into  Washington. 
Hastings  was  strongly  tempted  to  accompany 
him,  even  without  being  invited;  it  would  mean 
much  to  be  present  when  the  mother  first  heard 
of  her  daughter's  death. 

But  he  had  other  and,  he  thought,  more  im- 
portant work  to  do.  Moving  so  quietly  that  his 
footsteps  made  no  sound,  he  gained  the  staircase 
in  the  hall  and  made  his  way  to  the  second 
floor.  If  anybody  had  seen  him  and  inquired 
what  he  intended  to  do,  he  would  have  ex- 
plained that  he  was  on  his  way  to  get  his  own 
coat  in  place  of  the  one  which  young  Webster 


HASTINGS  IS  RETAINED  47 

had,  with  striking  thoughtfulness,  thrown  over 
him. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  real  purpose  was  to 
search  Webster's  room. 

But  experience  had  long  since  imbued  him 
with  contempt  for  the  obvious.  Secure  from  in- 
terruption, since  his  fellow-guests  were  still  in 
the  library,  he  did  not  content  himself  with  his 
hawk-like  scrutiny  of  the  one  room ;  he  explored 
the  back  stairway  which  had  been  Webster's  exit 
to  the  lawn,  Judge  Wilton's  room,  and  his  own. 

In  the  last  stage  of  the  search  he  encountered 
his  greatest  surprise.  Looking  under  his  own 
bed  by  the  light  of  a  pocket  torch,  he  found 
that  one  of  the  six  slats  had  been  removed  from 
its  place  and  laid  cross-ways  upon  the  other  five. 
The  reason  for  this  was  apparent;  it  had  been 
shortened  by  between  four  and  five  inches. 

"Cut  off  with  a  pocket-knife,"  the  old  man 
mused ;  "  crude  work,  like  the  shaping  of  the 
handle  of  that  dagger — downstairs ;  same  wood, 
too.  And  in  my  room,  from  my  bed 

"  I  wonder " 

With  a  low  whistle,  expressive  of  incredulity, 
he  put  that  new  theory  from  him  and  went  down 
to  the  library. 


THE   INTERVIEW    WITH    MRS.    BRACE 

GRATIFIED,  and  yet  puzzled,  by  the  re- 
sults of  his  search  of  the  upstairs  rooms, 
Hastings  was  fully  awake  to  the  necessity 
of  his  interviewing  Mrs.  Brace  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Lally,  the  chauffeur,  drove  him  back  to 
Washington  early  that  Sunday  morning.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  old  man  that,  as  they  went 
down  the  driveway,  he  looked  back  at  Sloane- 
hurst  and  felt  keenly  the  sufferings  of  the  people 
under  its  roof. 

He  was  particularly  drawn  to  Lucille  Sloane, 
with  whom  he  had  had  a  second  brief  confer- 
ence. While  waiting  for  his  coffee — nobody  in 
the  house  had  felt  like  breakfast — he  had  taken 
a  chair  at  the  southeast  end  of  the  front  porch 
and,  pulling  a  piece  of  soft  wood  and  a  knife 
from  his  Gargantuan  coat-pockets,  had  fallen  to 
whittling  and  thinking. — Whittling,  he  often 
said,  enabled  him  to  think  clearly;  it  was  to 
him  what  tobacco  was  to  other  men. 

Thus  absorbed,  he  suddenly  heard  Lucille's 
voice,  low  and  tense: 

48 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE      49 

"  We'll  have  to  leave  it  as  it  was  be " 

Berne  Webster  interrupted  her,  a  grain  of  bit- 
terness in  his  words: 

"  Rather  an  unusual  request,  don't  you 
think?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  this  after  the  talk  in 
the  library,"  she  continued,  "  but  there- " 

They  had  approached  Hastings  from  the  south 
side  of  the  house  and,  hidden  from  him  by  the 
verandah  railing,  were  upon  him  before  he  could 
make  his  presence  known.  Now,  however,  he  did 
so,  warning  them  by  standing  up  with  a  clam- 
orous scraping  of  his  feet  on  the  floor.  Instinc- 
tively, he  had  recoiled  from  overhearing  their 
discussion  of  what  was,  he  thought,  a  love-affair 
topic. 

Lucille  hurried  to  him,  not  that  she  had  addi- 
tional information  to  give  him,  but  to  renew 
her  courage.  Having  called  upon  him  for  aid, 
she  had  in  the  usual  feminine  way  decided  to 
make  her  reliance  upon  him  complete.  And, 
under  the  influence  of  his  reassuring  kindliness, 
her  hesitance  and  misgivings  disappeared. 

He  had  judged  her  feelings  correctly  during 
their  conference  in  the  parlour.  At  dinner,  she 
had  seen  in  him  merely  a  pleasant,  quiet-spoken 
old  man,  a  typical  "  hick "  farmer,  who  wore 
baggy,  absurdly  large  clothing — "for  the  sake 
of  his  circulation,"  he  said — and  whose  appear- 


50  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

ance  in  no  way  corresponded  to  his  reputation 
as  a  learned  psychologist  and  investigator  of 
crime.  Now,  however,  she  responded  warmly  to 
his  charm,  felt  the  sincerity  of  his  sympathy. 

Seeing  that  she  looked  up  to  him,  he  enjoyed 
encouraging  her,  was  bound  more  firmly  to  her 
interests. 

"  I  think  your  fears  are  unfounded,"  he  told 
her. 

But  he  did  not  reveal  his  knowledge  that  she 
suspected  her  father  of  some  connection  with 
the  murder.  In  fact,  he  could  not  decide  what 
her  suspicion  was  exactly,  whether  it  was  that 
he  had  been  guilty  of  the  crime  or  that  he  had 
guilty  knowledge  of  it. 

A  little  anxious,  she  had  asked  him  to  promise 
that  he  would  be  back  by  ten  o'clock,  for  the  in- 
quest. He  thought  he  could  do  that,  although 
he  had  persuaded  the  coroner  that  his  evidence 
would  not  be  necessary — the  judge  and  Webster 
had  found  the  body ;  their  stories  would  establish 
the  essential  facts. 

"  Why  do  you  want  me  here  then?  "  he  asked, 
not  comprehending  her  uneasiness. 

"For  one  thing,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to 
talk  to  father — before  the  inquest.    I  wish  yon  i 
could  now,  but  he  isn't  up." 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  Miss  Davis,  tele- 
phone operator  in  the  cheap  apartment  house 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE      51 

on  Fourteenth  street  known  as  The  Walman, 
took  the  old  man's  card  and  read  the  inscription, 
over  the  wire: 

"'Mr.  Jefferson  Hastings.'" 

After  a  brief  pause,  she  told  him : 

"  She  wants  to  know  if  you  are  a  detective." 

"  Tell  her  I  am." 

"  You  may  go  up,"  the  girl  reported.  "  It's 
Number  Forty-three,  fourth  floor — no  elevator." 

After  ascending  the  three  flights  of  stairs,  he 
sat  down  on  the  top  step,  to  get  his  breath.  Mr. 
Hastings  was  stout,  not  to  say  sebaceous — and 
he  proposed  to  begin  the  interview  unhandi- 
capped. 

Mrs.  Brace  answered  his  ring.  There  was 
nobody  else  in  the  apartment.  The  moment  he 
looked  into  her  restless,  remarkably  brilliant 
black  eyes,  he  catalogued  her  as  cold  and  repel- 
lent. 

"One  of  the  swift-eyed  kind,"  he  thought; 
"  heart  as  hard  as  her  head.  No  blood  in  her — 
but  smart.  Smart !  " 

He  relied,  without  question,  on  his  ability  to 
"  size  up  "  people  at  first  glance.  It  was  a  gift 
with  him,  like  the  intuition  of  women;  and  to 
it,  he  thought,  he  owed  his  best  work  as  a  de- 
tective. 

Mrs.  Brace,  without  speaking,  without  ac- 
knowledging his  quiet  "  Mrs.  Brace,  I  believe?  " 


52  "NO  CLUE!" 

led  him  into  the  living  room  after  waiting  for 
him  to  close  the  entrance  door.  This  room  was 
unusually  large,  out  of  proportion  to  the  rest 
of  the  apartment  which  included,  in  addition 
to  the  narrow  entry,  a  bedroom,  kitchen  and 
bath — all,  so  far  as  his  observation  went,  sparsely 
and  cheaply  furnished. 

They  sat  down,  and  still  she  did  not  speak, 
but  studied  his  face.  He  got  the  impression  that 
she  considered  all  men  her  enemies  and  sought 
some  intimation  of  what  his  hostility  would  be 
like. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you  at  such  a  time,"  he 
began.  "  I  shall  be  as  brief  as  possible." 

Her  black  eyebrows  moved  upward,  in  curious 
interrogation.  They  were  almost  mephistophe- 
lian,  and  unpleasantly  noticeable,  drawn  thus 
nearer  to  the  wide  wave  of  her  white  hair. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me — about  my  daugh- 
ter?" 

Her  voice  was  harsh,  metallic,  free  of  emo- 
tion. There  was  nothing  about  her  indicative 
of  grief.  She  did  not  look  as  if  she  had  been 
weeping.  He  could  learn  nothing  from  her  man- 
ner; it  was  extremely  matter-of-fact,  and  chilly. 
Only,  in  her  eyes  he  saw  suspicion — perhaps, 
he  reflected,  suspicion  was  always  in  her 
eyes. 

Her  composure  amazed  him. 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE      53 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  gently;  "  if  I  don't  distress 
you " 

«  What  is  it?  " 

She  suddenly  lowered  her  eyebrows,  drew 
them  together  until  they  were  a  straight  line 
at  the  bottom  of  her  forehead. 

Her  cold  self-possession  made  it  easy,  in  fact 
necessary,  for  him  to  deal  with  facts  directly. 
Apparently,  she  resented  his  intimated  condo- 
lence. He  could  fling  any  statement,  however 
sensational,  against  the  wall  of  her  indifference. 
She  was,  he  decided,  as  free  of  feeling  as  she 
was  inscrutable.  She  would  be  surprised  by 
emotion  into  nothing.  It  was  his  brain  against 
hers. 

"  I  want  to  say  first,"  he  continued,  "  that  my 
only  concern,  outside  of  my  natural  and  very 
real  sympathy  with  such  a  loss  as  yours  must 
be,  is  to  find  the  man  who  killed  her." 

She  moved  slowly  to  and  fro  on  the  armless, 
low-backed  rocker,  watching  him  intently. 

"  Will  you  help  me?  " 

"  If  I  can." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  smiling  encouragement 
from  force  of  habit,  not  because  he  expected  to 
arouse  any  spirit  of  cooperation  in  her.  "  I 
may  ask  you  a  few  questions  then?  " 

"  Certainly." 

Her  thin  nostrils  dilated  once,  quickly,  and 


54  "NO  CLUE!" 

somehow  their  motion  suggested  the  beginning 
of  a  ridiculing  smile.  He  went  seriously  to 
work. 

"  Have  you  any  idea,  Mrs.  Brace,  as  to  whe 
killed  your  daughter — or  could  have  wanted  to 
kill  her?  " 

"  Yes." 

«  Who?  " 

She  got  up,  without  the  least  change  of  ex- 
pression, without  a  word,  and,  as  she  crossed 
the  room,  paused  at  the  little  table  against  the 
farther  wall  to  arrange  more  symmetrically  a 
pile  of  finger-worn  periodicals.  She  went 
through  the  communicating  door  into  the  bed- 
room, and,  from  where  he  sat,  he  could  see  her 
go  through  another  door — into  the  bathroom,  he 
guessed.  In  a  moment,  he  heard  a  glass  clink 
against  a  faucet.  She  had  gone  for  a  drink  of 
water,  to  moisten  her  throat,  like  an  orator  pre- 
paring to  deliver  an  address. 

She  came  back,  unhurried,  imperturbable,  and 
sat  down  again  in  the  armless  rocker  before  she 
answered  his  question.  So  far  as  her  manner 
might  indicate,  there  had  been  no  interruption 
of  the  conversation. 

He  swept  her  with  wondering  eyes.  She  was 
not  playing  a  part,  not  concealing  sorrow.  The 
straight,  hard  lines  of  her  lean  figure  were  a 
complement  to  her  gleaming,  unrevealing  eyes. 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE      55 

There  was  hardness  about  her,  and  in  her,  every- 
where. 

A  slow,  warm  breeze  brought  through  the  cur- 
tainless  window  a  disagreeable  odour,  sour  and 
fetid.  The  apartment  was  at  the  back  of  the 
building;  the  odour  came  from  a  littered  court- 
yard, a  conglomeration  of  wet  ashes,  neglected 
garbage,  little  filthy  pools,  warmed  into  activity 
by  the  sun,  high  enough  now  to  touch  them.  He 
could  see  the  picture  without  looking — and  that 
odour  struck  him  as  excruciatingly  appropriate 
to  this  woman's  soul. 

"  Berne  Webster  killed  my  daughter,"  she  said 
evenly,  hands  moveless  in  her  lap.  "  There  are 
several  reasons  for  my  saying  so.  Mildred  was 
his  stenographer  for  eight  months,  and  he  fell 
in  love  with  her — that  was  the  way  he  described 
his  feeling,  and  intention,  toward  her.  The 
usual  thing  happened;  he  discharged  her  two 
weeks  ago. 

"  He  wants  to  marry  money.  You  know  about 
that,  I  take  it — Miss  Sloane,  daughter  of  A.  B. 
Sloane,  Sloanehurst,  where  she  was  murdered. 
They're  engaged.  At  least,  that  is — was  Mil- 
dred's information,  although  the  engagement 
hasn't  been  announced,  formally.  Fact  is,  he 
has  to  marry  the  Sloane  girl." 

Her  thin,  mobile  lips  curled  upward  at  the 
ends  and  looked  a  little  thicker,  giving  an  ex- 


56  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

aggerated  impression  of  wetness.  Hastings 
thought  of  some  small,  feline  animal,  creeping, 
anticipating  prey — a  sort  of  calculating  fe- 
rocity. 

She  talked  like  a  person  bent  on  making  every 
statement  perfectly  clear  and  understandable. 
There  was  no  intimation  that  she  was  so  com- 
municative because  she  thought  she  was  obliged 
to  talk.  On  the  contrary,  she  welcomed  the 
chance  to  give  him  the  story. 

"  Have  you  told  all  this  to  that  sheriff,  Mr. 
Crown?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes ;  but  he  seemed  to  attach  no  importance 
to  it." 

She  coloured  her  words  with  feeling  at  last 
— it  was  contempt — putting  the  sheriff  beyond 
the  pale  of  further  consideration. 

"  You  were  saying  Mr.  Webster  had  to  marry 
Miss  Sloane.  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mrs. 
Brace?  " 

"  Money  reasons.  He  had  to  have  money.  His 
bank  balance  is  never  more  than  a  thousand  dol- 
lars. He's  got  to  produce  sixty-five  thousand 
dollars  by  the  seventh  of  next  September.  This 
is  the  sixteenth  of  July.  Where  is  he  to  get  all 
that?  He's  got  to  marry  it." 

Hastings  put  more  intensity  into  his  scrutiny 
of  her  smooth,  untroubled  face.  It  showed  no 
sudden  access  of  hatred,  no  unreasoning  venom, 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE      57 

except  that  the  general  cast  of  her  features  spoke 
generally  of  vindictiveness.  She  was,  unmis- 
takably, sure  of  what  she  said. 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  "  he  asked,  hiding 
his  surprise. 

"  Mildred  knew  it — naturally,  from  working  in 
Ms  office." 

"  Let  me  be  exact,  Mrs.  Brace.  Your  charge 
is  just  what?  " 

He  felt  the  need  of  keen  thought.  He  reached 
for  his  knife  and  piece  of  wood.  Entirely  un- 
consciously, he  began  to  whittle,  letting  little 
shavings  fall  on  the  bare  floor.  She  made  no 
sign  of  seeing  his  new  occupation. 

"  It's  plain  enough,  Mr. — I  don't  recall  your 
name." 

"  Hastings — Jefferson  Hastings." 

"  It's  plain  and  direct,  Mr.  Hastings.  He 
threw  her  over,  threw  Mildred  over.  She  refused 
to  be  dealt  with  in  that  way.  He  wouldn't  listen 
to  her  side,  her  arguments,  her  protests,  her 
pleas.  She  pursued  him ;  and  last  night  he  killed 
her.  I  understand — Mr.  Crown  told  me — he  was 
found  bending  over  the  body — it  seemed  to 
me,  caught  in  the  very  commission  of  the 
crime." 

A  fleeting  contortion,  like  mirthless  ridicule, 
touched  her  lips  as  she  saw  him,  with  head 
lowered,  cut  more  savagely  into  the  piece  of 


58  "NO  CLUE!" 

wood.  She  noticed,  and  enjoyed,  his  dis- 
may. 

"  That  isn't  quite  accurate,"  he  said,  without 
lifting  his  head.  "  He  and  another  man,  Judge 
Wilton,  stumbled — came  upon  your  daughter's 
body  at  the  same  moment." 

"  Was  that  it?  "  she  retorted,  unbelieving. 

When  he  looked  up,  she  was  regarding  him 
thoughtfully,  the  black  brows  elevated,  interrog- 
ative. The  old  man  felt  the  stirrings  of  physical 
nausea  within  him.  But  he  waited  for  her  to 
elaborate  her  story. 

"  Do  you  care  to  ask  anything  more?  "  she 
inquired,  impersonal  as  ashes. 

« If  I  may." 

"  Why,  certainly." 

He  paused  in  his  whittling,  brought  forth  a 
huge  handkerchief,  passed  it  across  his  forehead, 
was  aware  for  a  moment  that  he  was  working 
hard  against  the  woman's  unnatural  calmness, 
and  feeling  the  heat  intensely.  She  was  un- 
touched by  it.  He  whittled  again,  asking  her: 

"  You  a  native  of  Washington?  " 

"  No." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  " 

"About  nine  months.  We  came  from  Chi- 
cago." 

"Any  friends  here — have  you  any  friends 
here?  " 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BKACE      59 

"  Neither  here  nor  elsewhere."  She  made  that 
bleak  declaration  simply,  as  if  he  had  suggested 
her  possession  of  green  diamonds.  Her  tone 
made  friendship  a  myth. 

He  felt  again  utterly  free  of  the  restraints 
and  little  hesitancies  usual  in  situations  of  this 
nature. 

"And  your  means,  resources.  Any,  Mrs. 
Brace?  " 

"  None — except  my  daughter's." 

He  was  unaccountably  restless.  Putting  the 
knife  into  his  pocket,  he  stood  up,  went  to  the 
window.  His  guess  had  been  correct.  The  court- 
yard below  was  as  he  had  pictured  it.  He  stood 
there  at  least  a  full  minute. 

Turning  suddenly  in  the  hope  of  catching  some 
new  expression  on  her  face,  he  found  her  gazing 
steadily,  as  if  in  revery,  at  the  opposite  wall. 

"  One  thing  more,  Mrs.  Brace :  did  you  know 
your  daughter  intended  to  go  to  Sloanehurst 
last  night?  " 

«  No." 

"Were  you  uneasy  when  she  failed  to  come 
in— last  night?  " 

"  Yes;  but  what  could  I  do?  " 

"  Had  she  written  to  Mr.  Webster  recently?  " 

"Yes;  I  think  so." 

"  You  think  so?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  went  out  to  mail  a  letter  night 


60  "NO  CLUE!" 

before  last.  I  recall  that  she  said  it  was  im- 
portant, had  to  be  in  the  box  for  the  midnight 
collection,  to  reach  its  destination  yesterday 
afternoon — late.  I'm  sure  it  was  to  Webster." 

"  Did  you  see  the  address  on  it?  " 

"  I  didn't  try  to." 

He  stepped  from  the  window,  to  throw  the 
full  glare  of  the  morning  sky  on  her  face,  which 
was  upturned,  toward  him. 

"  Was  it  in  a  grey  envelope?  " 

"  Yes ;  an  oblong,  grey  envelope,"  she  said, 
the  impassive,  unwrinkled  face  unmoved  to  either 
curiosity  or  reticence. 

With  surprising  swiftness  he  took  a  triangular 
piece  of  paper  from  his  breast  pocket  and  held 
it  before  her. 

"  Might  that  be  the  flap  of  that  grey  envel- 
ope? " 

She  inspected  it,  while  he  kept  hold  of  it. 

"Very  possibly." 

Without  leaving  her  chair,  she  turned  and  put 
back  the  lid  of  a  rickety  little  desk  in  the  corner 
immediately  behind  her.  There,  she  showed  him, 
was  a  bundle  of  grey  envelopes,  the  correspond- 
ing paper  beside  it.  He  compared  the  envelope 
flaps  with  the  one  he  had  brought.  They  were 
identical. 

Here  was  support  of  her  assertion  that  Berne 
Webster  had  been  pursued  by  her  daughter  as 


THE  INTERVIEW  WITH  MRS.  BRACE     61 

late  as  yesterday  afternoon — and,  therefore, 
might  have  been  provoked  into  desperate  action. 
He  had  found  that  scrap  of  grey  paper  at  Sloane- 
hurst,  in  Webster's  room. 


VI 

ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF 

MKS.  BRACE  did  not  ask  Hastings  where 
lie  had  got  the  fragment  of  grey  en- 
velope. She  made  no  comment  what- 
ever. 

He  reversed  the  flap  in  his  hand  and  showed 
her  the  inner  side  on  which  were,  at  first  sight, 
meaningless  lines  and  little  smears.  He  ex- 
plained that  the  letter  must  have  been  put  into 
the  envelope  when  the  ink  was  still  undried  on 
the  part  of  it  that  came  in  contact  with  the 
flap,  and,  the  paper  being  of  that  rough-finish, 
spongy  kind  frequently  affected  by  women,  the 
flap  had  absorbed  the  undried  ink  pressed 
against  it. 

"  Have  you  a  hand-mirror?  "  he  asked,  break- 
ing a  long  pause. 

She  brought  one  from  the  bedroom.  Holding 
it  before  the  envelope  flap,  he  showed  her  the 
marks  thus  made  legible.  They  were,  on  the 
first  line :  "  — edly  de— ,"  with  the  first  loop  or 
curve  of  an  u  n "  or  an  "  m "  following  the 


ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF  63 

"  de " ;  and  on  the  second  line  the  one  word 
"  Pursuit !  "  the  whole  reproduction  being  this : 

edly  de 
Pursuit! 

"  Does  that  writing  mean  anything  to  you, 
Mrs.  Brace?"  Hastings  asked,  keeping  it  in 
front  of  her. 

She  moved  her  left  hand,  a  quiet  gesture  indi- 
cating her  lack  of  further  interest  in  the  piece 
of  paper. 

"  Nothing  special,"  she  said,  "  except  that  the 
top  line  seems  to  bear  out  what  I've  told  you. 
It  might  be :  '  repeatedly  demanded ' — I  mean 
Mildred  may  have  written  that  she  had  re- 
peatedly demanded  justice  of  him,  something  of 
that  sort." 

"  Is  it  your  daughter's  writing?  " 

«  Yes." 

"And  the  word  'Pursuit,'  with  an  exclama- 
tion point  after  it?  That  suggest  anything  to 
you?  " 

"  Why,  no."  She  showed  her  first  curiosity : 
"  Where  did  you  get  that  piece  of  envelope?  "  • 

"  Not  from  Berne  Webster,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  she  agreed,  and  did  not  press 
him  for  the  information. 

"  You  said,"  he  went  to  another  point,  "  that 
the  sheriff  attached  no  importance  to  your  be- 


64  "NO  CLUE!" 

lief  in  Webster's  guilt.    Can  you  tell  me  why?  " 

Her  contempt  was  frank  enough  now,  and 
visible,  her  lips  thickening  and  assuming  the 
abnormally  humid  appearance  he  had  noticed 
before. 

"  He  thinks  the  footsteps  which  Miss  Sloane 
says  she  heard  are  the  deciding  evidence.  He 
accuses  a  young  man  named  Kussell,  Eugene 
Eussell,  who's  been  attentive  to  Mildred." 

Hastings  was  relieved. 

"  Crown's  seen  him,  seen  Russell?  "  he  asked, 
not  troubling  to  conceal  his  eagerness. 

On  that,  he  saw  the  beginnings  of  wrath  in 
her  eyes.  The  black  eyebrows  went  upward, 
the  thin  nostrils  expanded,  the  lips  set  to  a  line 
no  thicker  than  the  edge  of  a  knife. 

"  You,  too,  will " 

She  broke  off,  checked  by  the  ringing  of  the 
wall  telephone  in  the  entrance  hall.  She  an- 
swered the  call,  moving  without  haste.  It  was 
for  Mr.  Hastings,  she  said,  going  back  to  her 
seat. 

He  regretted  the  interruption;  it  would  give 
her  time  to  regain  the  self-control  she  had  been 
on  the  point  of  losing. 

Sheriff  Crown  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 
wire.  He  was  back  at  Sloanehurst,  he  explained, 
and  Miss  Sloane  had  asked  him  to  give  the  de- 
tective certain  information: 


ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF  65 

He  had  asked  the  Washington  police  to  hold 
Eugene  Russell,  or  to  persuade  him  to  attend 
the  inquest  at  Sloanehurst.  Crown,  going  in  to 
Washington,  had  stopped  at  the  car  barns  of  the 
electric  road  which  passed  Sloanehurst,  and  had 
found  a  conductor  who  had  made  the  ten-thirty 
run  last  night.  This  conductor,  Barton,  had 
slept  at  the  barns,  waiting  for  the  early-morn- 
ing resumption  of  car  service  to  take  him  to  his 
home  across  the  city. 

Barton  remembered  having  seen  a  man  leave 
his  car  at  Ridgecrest,  the  next  stop  before  Sloane- 
hurst, at  twenty-five  minutes  past  ten  last  night. 
He  answered  Russell's  description,  had  seemed 
greatly  agitated,  and  was  unfamiliar  with  the 
stops  on  the  line,  having  questioned  Barton  as 
to  the  distance  between  Ridgecrest  and  Sloane- 
hurst. That  was  all  the  conductor  had  to  tell. 

"  Mrs.  Brace's  description  of  Russell,  a  real 
estate  salesman  who  had  been  attentive  to  her 
daughter,"  continued  Crown,  "  tallied  with  Bar- 
ton's description  of  the  man  who  had  been  on 
his  car.  I  got  his  address  from  her.  But  say! 
She  don't  fall  for  the  idea  that  Russell's  guilty ! 
She  gave  me  to  understand,  in  that  snaky,  frozen 
way  of  hers,  that  I  was  a  fool  for  thinking  so. 

"  Anyway,  I'm  going  to  put  him  over  the 
jumps !  "  The  sheriff  was  highly  elated.  "  What 
was  he  out  here  for  last  night  if  he  wasn't  jealous 


66  "NO  CLUE!" 

of  the  girl?  Wasn't  he  following  her?  And, 
when  he  came  up  with  her  on  the  Sloanehurst 
lawn,  didn't  he  kill  her?  It  looks  plain  to  me; 
simple.  I  told  you  it  was  a  simple  case !  " 

"  Have  you  seen  him?  "  Hastings  was  looking 
at  his  watch  as  he  spoke — it  was  nine  o'clock. 

"  No ;  I  went  to  his  boarding  house,  waked  up 
the  place  at  three  o'clock  this  morning.  He 
wasn't  there." 

Hastings  asked  for  the  number  of  the  house. 
It  was  on  Eleventh  street,  Crown  informed  him, 
and  gave  the  number. 

"  I  searched  his  room,"  the  sheriff  added,  his 
voice  self-congratulatory. 

"Find  anything?" 

"  I  should  say !  The  nail  file  was  missing  from 
his  dressing  case." 

"What  else?" 

"  A  pair  of  wet  shoes — muddy  and  wet." 

"  Then,  he'd  returned  to  his  room,  after  the 
murder,  and  gone  out  again?" 

"  That's  it— right." 

"  Anybody  in  the  house  hear  him  come  in,  or 
go  out?  " 

"  Not  a  soul. — And  I  don't  know  where  he  is 
now." 

Hastings,  leaving  the  telephone,  found  Mrs. 
Brace  carefully  brushing  into  a  newspaper  the 
litter  made  by  his  whittling.  Her  performance 


ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF  67 

of  that  trivial  task,  the  calm  thoroughness  with 
which  she  went  about  it,  or  the  littleness  of  it, 
when  compared  with  her  complete  indifference 
to  the  tragedy  which  should  have  overwhelmed 
her — something,  he  could  not  tell  exactly  what, 
made  her  more  repugnant  to  him  than  ever. 

He  spoke  impulsively : 

"  Did  you  want— didn't  you  feel  some  impulse, 
some  desire,  to  go  out  there  when  you  heard  of 
this  murder?  "  » 

She  paused  in  her  brushing,  looking  up  to 
him  without  lifting  herself  from  hands  and 
knees. 

"  Why  should  I  have  wanted  to  do  any  such 
thing?  "  she  replied.  "  Mildred's  not  out  there. 
What's  out  there  is — nothing." 

"  Do  you  know  about  the  arrangements  for 
the  removal  of  the  body?" 

"  The  sheriff  told  me,"  she  replied,  cold,  im- 
personal. "  It  will  be  brought  to  an  undertaking 
establishment  as  soon  as  the  coroner's  jury  has 
viewed  it." 

"  Yes — at  ten  o'clock  this  morning." 

She  made  no  comment  on  that.  He  had 
brought  up  the  disagreeable  topic — one  which 
would  have  been  heart-breaking  to  any  other 
mother  he  had  ever  known — in  the  hope  of  arous- 
ing some  real  feeling  in  her.  And  he  had  failed. 
Her  self-control  was  impregnable.  There  was 


68  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

about  her  an  atmosphere  that  was,  in  a  sense, 
terrifying,  something  out  of  all  nature. 

She  brushed  up  the  remaining  chips  and  shav- 
ings while  he  got  his  hat.  He  was  deliberating : 
was  there  nothing  more  she  could  tell  him? 
What  could  he  hope  to  get  from  her  except  that 
which  she  wanted  to  tell?  He  was  sure  that  she 
had  spoken,  in  reply  to  each  of  his  questions, 
according  to  a  prearranged  plan,  a  well  designed 
scheme  to  bring  into  high  relief  anything  that 
might  incriminate  Berne  Webster. 

And  he  was  by  no  means  in  a  mood  to  per- 
suade himself  of  Webster's  guilt.  He  knew  the 
value  of  first  impressions;  and  he  did  not  pro- 
pose to  let  her  clog  his  thoughts  with  far-fetched 
deductions  against  the  young  lawyer. 

She  got  to  her  feet  with  cat-like  agility,  and, 
to  his  astonishment,  burst  into  violent  speech: 

"You're  standing  there  trying  to  think  up 
things  to  help  Berne  Webster!  Like  the  sheriff! 
Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  told  him:  Webster's 
guilty.  I  know  it !  He  killed  my  daughter.  He's 
a  liar  and  a  coward — a  traitor !  He  killed  her!  " 

There  was  no  doubt  of  her  emotion  now.  She 
stood  in  a  strange  attitude,  leaning  a  little  to- 
ward him  in  the  upper  part  of  her  body,  as  if 
all  her  strength  were  consciously  directed  into 
her  shoulders  and  neck.  She  seemed  larger  in 
her  arms  and  shoulders ;  they,  with  her  head  and 


ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF  69 

face,  were,  he  thought,  the  most  vivid  part  of 
her — an  effect  which  she  produced  deliberately, 
to  impress  him. 

Her  whole  body  was  not  tremulous,  but, 
rather,  vibrant,  a  taut  mechanism  played  on  by 
the  rage  that  possessed  her.  Her  eyebrows,  high 
on  her  forehead,  reminded  him  of  things  that 
crawled.  Her  eyes,  brilliant  like  clear  ice  with 
sunshine  on  it,  were  darting,  furtive,  always  in 
motion. 

She  did  not  look  him  squarely  in  the  eye,  but 
her  eyes  selected  and  bored  into  every  part 
of  his  face ;  her  glance  played  on  his  countenance. 
He  could  easily  have  imagined  that  it  burned 
him  physically  in  many  places. 

"All  this  talk  about  Gene  Russell's  being 
guilty  is  stuff,  bosh ! "  she  continued.  "  Gene 
wouldn't  hurt  anybody.  He  couldn't!  Wait 
until  you  see  him ! "  Her  lips  curled  momen- 
tarily to  their  thickened,  wet  sneer.  "  There's 
nothing  to  him — nothing!  Mildred  hated  him; 
he  bored  her  to  death.  Even  I  laughed  at  him. 
And  this  sheriff  talks  about  the  boy's  having 
killed  her!" 

Suddenly,  she  partially  controlled  her  fury. 
He  saw  her  eyes  contract  to  the  gleam  of  a  new 
idea.  She  was  silent  a  moment,  while  her 
vibrant,  tense  body  swayed  in  front  of  him  al- 
most imperceptibly. 


70  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

When  she  spoke  again,  it  was  in  her  flat,  con- 
strained tone.  He  was  impressed  anew  with 
her  capacity  for  making  her  feeling  subordinate 
to  her  intelligence. 

"  She's  a  dangerous  woman,"  he  thought  again. 

"  You're  working  for  Webster?  " 

Her  inquiry  came  after  so  slight  a  pause,  and 
it  was  put  to  him  in  a  manner  so  different  from 
the  unrestraint  of  her  denunciation  of  Webster, 
that  he  felt  as  he  would  have  done  if  he  had 
been  dealing  with  two  women. 

"  I've  told  you  already,"  he  said,  "  my  only 
interest  is  in  finding  the  real  murderer.  In  that 
sense,  I'm  working  for  Webster— if  he's  inno- 
cent." 

"  But  he  didn't  hire  you?  " 

"  No." 

Seeing  that  he  told  the  truth,  she  indulged 
herself  in  rage  again.  It  was  just  that,  Hastings 
thought;  she  took  an  actual,  keen  pleasure  in 
giving  vent  to  the  anger  that  was  in  her.  Re- 
lieved of  the  necessity  of  censoring  her  words 
and  thoughts  closely,  she  could  say  what  she 
wanted  to  say. 

"  He's  guilty,  and  I'll  prove  it ! "  she  defied 
the  detective's  disbelief.  "  I'll  help  to  prove  it. 
Guilty?  I  tell  you  he  is— guilty  as  hell !  " 

He  made  an  abrupt  departure,  her  shrill  ha- 
tred ringing  in  his  ears  when  he  reached  the 


ACTION  BY  THE  SHERIFF  71 

street.  He  found  it  hard,  too,  to  get  her  out  of 
his  eyes,  even  now — she  had  impressed  herself 
so  shockingly  upon  him.  The  picture  of  her 
floated  in  front  of  him,  above  the  shimmering 
pavement,  as  if  he  still  confronted  her  in  all 
her  unloveliness,  the  smooth,  white  face  like  a 
travesty  on  youth,  the  swift,  darting  eyes,  the 
hard,  straight  lines  of  the  lean  figure,  the  cold 
deliberation  of  manner  and  movement. 

"  She's  incapable  of  grief !  "  he  thought.  "  Ter- 
rible! She's  terrible!" 

Lally  drove  him  to  his  apartment  on  Fifteenth 
street,  where  the  largest  of  three  rooms  served 
him  as  a  combination  library  and  office.  There 
he  kept  his  records,  in  a  huge,  old-fashioned 
safe;  and  there,  also,  he  held  his  conferences, 
from  time  to  time,  with  police  chiefs  and  de- 
tectives from  all  parts  of  the  country  when  they 
sought  his  help  in  their  pursuit  of  criminals. 

The  walls  were  lined  with  books  from  floor 
to  ceiling.  A  large  table  in  the  centre  of  the 
room  was  stacked  high  with  newspapers  and 
magazines.  Dusty  papers  and  books  were  piled, 
too,  on  several  chairs  set  against  the  bookcases, 
and  on  the  floor  in  one  corner  was  a  pyramid  of 
documents. 

"  This  place  is  like  me,"  he  explained  to  vis- 
itors ;  "  it's  loosely  dressed." 

He  sat  down  at  the  table  and  wrote  instruc- 


72  "NO  CLUE!" 

tions  for  one  of  his  two  assistants,  his  best  man, 
Hendricks.  Russell's  room  must  be  searched  and 
Russell  interviewed — work  for  which  Hastings 
felt  that  he  himself  could  not  spare  the  time. 
He  gave  Hendricks  a  second  task:  investigation 
of  the  financial  standing  of  two  people:  Berne 
Webster  and  Mrs.  Catherine  Brace. 

He  noted,  with  his  customary  kindness,  in  his 
memorandum  to  Hendricks : 

"  Sunday's  a  bad  day  for  this  sort  of  work, 
but  do  the  best  you  can.  Report  tomorrow 
morning." 

That  arranged,  he  set  out  for  Sloanehurst, 
to  keep  his  promise  to  Lucille — he  would  be  there 
for  the  inquest. 

On  the  way  he  reviewed  matters : 

"  Somehow,  I  got  the  idea  that  the  Brace 
woman  knew  Russell  hadn't  killed  her  daughter. 
Funny,  that  is.  How  could  she  have  known  that? 
How  can  she  know  it  now? 

"She's  got  the  pivotal  fact  in  this  case.  I 
felt  it.  I'm  willing  to  bet  she  persuaded  her 
daughter  to  pursue  Webster.  And  things  have 
gone  '  bust ' — didn't  come  out  as  she  thought 
they  would.  What  was  she  after,  money?  That's 
exactly  it!  Exactly!  Her  daughter  could  hold 
up  Webster,  and  Webster  could  hold  up  the 
Sloanes  after  his  marriage." 

He  whistled  softly. 


ACTION  BY  THE  SHEKIFF  73 

"  If  she  can  prove  that  Webster  should  have 
married  her  daughter,  that  he's  in  need  of  any- 
thing like  sixty-five  thousand  dollars — where 
does  he  get  off?  He  gets  off  safely  if  the  Braee 
woman  ever  sees  fit  to  tell — what?  I  couldn't 
guess  if  my  whittling  hand  depended  on  it."  He 
grimaced  his  repugnance. 

"  What  a  woman !  A  mania  for  wickedness — 
evil  from  head  to  foot,  thoroughly.  She 
wouldn't  stick  at  murder — if  she  thought  it  safe. 
She'd  do  anything,  say  anything.  Every  word 
she  uttered  this  morning  had  been  rehearsed  in 
her  mind — with  gestures,  even.  When  I  beat 
her,  I  beat  this  puzzle;  that's  sure." 

That  he  had  to  do  with  a  puzzle,  he  had  no 
manner  of  doubt.  The  very  circumstances  sur- 
rounding the  discovery  of  the  girl's  body — 
Arthur  Sloane  flashing  on  the  light  in  his  room 
at  a  time  when  his  being  awake  was  so  unusual 
that  it  frightened  his  daughter;  Judge  Wilton 
stumbling  over  the  dead  woman;  young  Web- 
ster doing  the  same  thing  in  the  same  instant; 
the  light  reaching  out  to  them  at  the  moment 
when  they  bent  down  to  touch  the  thing  which 
their  feet  had  encountered — all  that  shouted  mys- 
tery to  his  experienced  mind. 

He  thought  of  Webster's  pronouncement  t 
"The  thug,  acting  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
with  a  blow  in  the  dark  and  a  getaway  through 


74  "NO  CLUE!" 

the  night "  Here  was  reproduction  of  that 

in  real  life.  Would  people  say  that  Webster 
had  given  himself  away  in  advance?  They  might. 

And  the  weapon,  what  about  that?  It  could 
have  been  manufactured  in  ten  minutes.  Crown 
had  said  over  the  wire  that  Russell's  nail  file 
was  missing.  What  if  Webster's,  too,  were  miss- 
ing? He  would  see — although  he  expected  to 
uncover  no  such  thing. 

He  came,  then,  to  Lucille's  astounding  idea, 
that  her  father  must  be  "  protected,"  because 
he  was  nervous  and,  being  nervous,  might  incur 
the  enmity  of  the  authorities.  He  could  not 
take  that  seriously.  And  yet  the  most  fruitful 
imagination  in  the  world  could  fabricate  no  mo- 
tive for  Arthur  Sloane's  killing  a  young  woman 
he  had  never  seen. 

Only  Webster  and  Russell  could  be  saddled 
with  motives :  Webster's,  desperation,  the  savage 
determination  to  rid  himself  of  the  woman's  pur- 
suit ;  Russell's,  unreasoning  jealousy. 

So  far  as  facts  went,  the  crime  lay  between 
those  two — and  he  could  not  shake  off  the  im- 
pression that  Mrs.  Brace,  shrilly  asserting  Rus- 
sell's innocence,  had  known  that  she  spoke  the 
absolute  truth. 


VII 

THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE 

DELAYED  by  a  punctured  tire,  Hastings 
reached  Sloanehurst  when  the  inquest 
was  well  under  way.  He  went  into  the 
house  by  a  side  door  and  found  Lucille  Sloane 
waiting  for  him. 

"  Won't  you  go  to  father  at  once?  "  she  urged 
him. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  He  saw  that  her  anxi- 
ety had  grown  during  his  absence. 

"  He's  in  one  of  his  awfully  nervous  states. 
I  hope  you'll  be  very  patient  with  him — make 
allowances.  He  doesn't  seem  to  grasp  the  1m- 
portance  of  your  connection  with  the  case ;  wants 
to  ask  questions.  Won't  you  let  me  take  you  to 
him,  now?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  if  I  can  be  of  any  help.  What  do 
you  want  me  to  say  to  him  ?  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity for  the  interview.  He  had  long  since  dis- 
covered the  futility  of  inquests  in  the  uncovering 
of  important  evidence,  and  he  had  not  intended 
to  sit  through  this  one.  He  wanted  particularly 

75 


76  "NO  CLUE!" 

to  talk  to  Berne  Webster,  but  Sloane  also  had 
to  be  questioned. 

"  I  thought  you  might  explain,"  she  continued 
hurriedly,  preceding  him  down  the  hall  toward 
her  father's  room,  "  that  you  will  do  exactly  what 
I  asked  you  to  do — see  that  the  mysterious  part 
of  this  terrible  affair,  if  there  is  any  mystery 
in  it — see  that  it's  cleared  up  promptly.  Please 
tell  him  you'll  act  for  us  in  dealing  with  news- 
paper reporters;  that  you'll  help  us,  not  annoy 
us,  not  annoy  him." 

She  had  stopped  at  Sloane's  door. 

"  And  you?  "  Hastings  delayed  her  knock. 
"  If  they  want  you  to  testify,  if  Dr.  Garnet  calls 
for  you,  I  think  you'd  better  testify  very  frankly, 
tell  them  about  the  footsteps  you  heard." 

"I've  already  done  that."  She  seemed  em- 
barrassed. "Father  asked  me  to  'phone  Mr. 
Southard,  Mr.  Jeremy  Southard,  his  lawyer, 
about  it.  I  know  I  told  you  I  wanted  your 
advice  about  everything.  I  would  have  waited 
to  ask  you.  But  you  were  late.  I  had  to  take 
Mr.  Southard's  advice." 

"  That's  perfectly  all  right,"  he  reassured  her. 
"Mr.  Southard  advised  you  wisely. — Now,  I'm 
going  to  ask  your  help.  The  guest-rooms  up- 
stairs— have  the  servants  straightened  them  up 
this  morning?  " 

They  had  not,  she  told  him.    Excitement  had 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE      77 

quite  destroyed  their  efficiency  for  the  time  be- 
ing; they  were  at  the  parlour  windows,  listen- 
ing, or  waiting  to  be  examined  by  the  coroner. 

"  That's  what  I  hoped,"  he  said.  "  Won't  you 
see  that  those  rooms  are  left  exactly  as  they  are 
until  I  can  have  a  look  at  them  ?  "  She  nodded 
assent.  "And  say  nothing  about  my  speaking 
of  it — absolutely  nothing  to  anybody?  It's 
vitally  important." 

The  door  was  opened  by  Sloane's  man,  Jarvis, 
who  had  in  queer  combination,  Hastings  thought, 
the  salient  aspects  of  an  undertaker  and  an  ex- 
perienced pick-pocket.  He  was  dismal  of  coun- 
tenance and  alert  in  movement,  an  efficient  ghost, 
admirably  appropriate  to  the  twilit  gloom  of  the 
room  with  its  heavily  shaded  windows. 

Mr.  Sloane  was  in  bed,  in  the  darkest  corner. 

"  Father,"  Lucille  addressed  him  from  the 
door-sill,  "  I've  asked  Mr.  Hastings  to  talk  to 
you  about  things.  He's  just  back  from  Wash- 
ington." 

"  Shuddering  saints ! "  said  Mr.  Sloane,  not 
lifting  his  head  from  the  pillows. 

Lucille  departed.  The  ghostly  Jarvis  closed 
the  door  without  so  much  as  a  click  of  the  latch. 
Hastings  advanced  slowly  toward  the  bed,  his 
eyes  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  darkness. 

"  Shuddering,  shivering,  shaking  saints !  "  Mr. 
Sloane  exclaimed  again,  the  words  coming  in  a 


78  "NO  CLUE!" 

slow,  shrill  tenor  from  his  lips,  as  if  with  great 
exertion  he  reached  up  with  something  and 
pushed  each  one  out  of  his  mouth.  "  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Hastings,  if  I  can  control  my  nerves,  and 
stand  it.  What  is  it? '_' 

His  hostility  to  the  caller  was  obvious.  The 
evident  and  grateful  interest  with  which  the 
night  before  he  had  heard  the  detective's  stories 
of  crimes  and  criminals  had  changed  now  to 
annoyance  at  the  very  sight  of  him.  As  a 
raconteur,  Mr.  Hastings  was  quite  the  thing; 
as  protector  of  the  Sloane  family's  privacy  and 
seclusion,  he  was  a  nuisance.  Such  was  the  im- 
pression Mr.  Hastings  received. 

At  a  loss  to  understand  his  host's  frame  of 
mind,  he  took  a  chair  near  the  bed. 

Mr.  Sloane  stirred  jerkily  under  his  thin  sum- 
mer coverings. 

"A  little  light,  Jarvis,"  he  said  peevishly. 
"Now,  Mr.  Hastings,  what  can  I  do  for — tell 
you?" 

Jarvis  put  back  a  curtain. 

"  Quivering  and  crucified  martyrs !  "  the  pros- 
trate man  burst  forth.  "  I  said  a  little,  Jarvis ! 
You  drown  my  optic  nerves  in  ink  and,  without 
a  moment's  warning,  flood  them  with  the  glaring 
brilliancy  of  the  noonday  sun ! "  Jarvis  half- 
drew  the  curtain.  "Ah,  that's  better.  Never 
more  than  an  inch  at  a  time,  Jarvis.  How  many 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE      79 

times  have  I  told  you  that?  Never  give  me  a 
shock  like  that  again;  never  more  than  an  inch 
of  light  at  a  time.  Frantic  fiends!  From  cim- 
merian,  abysmal  darkness  to  Sahara-desert 
glare!" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jarvis,  as  if  on  the  point  of 
digging  a  grave — for  himself.  "  Beg  pardon, 
sir." 

He  effaced  himself,  in  shadows,  somewhere 
behind  Hastings,  who  seized  the  opportunity  to 


"  Miss  Sloane  suggested  that  you  wanted  cer- 
tain information.  In  fact,  she  asked  me  to  see 
you." 

"My  daughter?  Oh,  yes!"  The  prone  body 
became  semi-upright,  leaned  on  an  elbow.  "  Yes ! 
What  I  want  to  know  is,  why — why,  in  the  name 
of  all  the  jumping  angels,  everybody  seems  to 
think  there's  a  lot  of  mystery  connected  with 
this  brutal,  vulgar,  dastardly  crime!  It  passes 
my  comprehension,  utterly! — Jarvis,  stop  click- 
ing your  finger-nails  together ! "  This  with  a 
note  of  exaggerated  pleading.  "  You  know  I'm 
a  nervous  wreck,  a  total  loss  physically,  and  yet 
you  stand  there  in  the  corner  and  indulge  your- 
self wickedly,  wickedly,  in  that  infernal  habit 
of  yours  of  clicking  your  finger-nails !  Mute  and 
mutilated  Christian  martyrs !  " 

He  fell  back  among  the  pillows,   breathing 


80  "NO  CLUE!" 

heavily,  the  perfect  picture  of  exhaustion.  Jar- 
vis  came  near  on  soundless  feet  and  applied  a 
wet  cloth  to  his  master's  temples. 

The  old  man  regarded  them  both  with  uncon- 
cealed amazement. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me,  Mr.  Hastings, 
really,  I  can't  be  annoyed !  "  the  wreck,  somewhat 
revived,  announced  feebly.  "All  I  said  to  my 
daughter,  Miss  Sloane,  is  what  I  say  to  you  now : 
I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  employ  you,  or 
indeed  why  you  should  be  connected  with  this 
affair.  You  were  my  guest,  here,  at  Sloanehurst. 
Unfortunately,  some  ruffian  of  whom  we  never 
heard,  whose  existence  we  never  suspected — Jar- 
vis,  take  off  this  counterpane;  you're  boiling  me, 
parboiling  nae;  my  nerves  are  seething,  simmer- 
ing, stewing!  Athletic  devils!  Have  you  no 
discrimination,  Jarvis? — as  I  was  saying,  Mr. 
Hastings,  somebody  stabbed  somebody  else  to 
death  on  my  lawn,  unfortunately  marring  your 
visit.  But  that's  all.  I  can't  see  that  we  need 
you — thank  you,  nevertheless." 

The  dismissal  was  unequivocal.  Hastings  got 
to  his  feet,  his  indignation  all  the  greater  through 
realization  that  he  had  been  sent  for  merely  to 
be  flouted.  And  yet,  this  man's  daughter  had 
come  to  him  literally  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
had  begged  him  to  help  her,  had  said  that  money 
was  the  smallest  of  considerations.  Moreover, 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE     81 

he  had  accepted  her  employment,  had  made  the 
definite  agreement  and  promise.  Apparently, 
Sloane  was  in  no  condition  to  act  independently, 
and  his  daughter  had  known  it,  had  hoped  that 
he,  Hastings,  might  soothe  his  silly  mind,  do 
away  with  his  objections  to  assistance  which 
she  knew  he  needed. 

There  was,  also,  the  fact  that  Lucille  believed 
her  father  unaccountably  interested,  if  not  im- 
plicated, in  the  crime.  He  could  not  get  away 
from  that  impression.  He  was  sure  he  had 
interpreted  correctly  the  girl's  anxiety  the  night 
before.  She  was  working  to  save  her  father — 
from  something.  And  she  believed  Berne  Web- 
ster innocent. 

These  were  some  of  the  considerations  which, 
flashing  through  his  mind,  prevented  his  giving 
way  to  righteous  wrath.  He  most  certainly 
would  not  allow  Arthur  Sloane  to  eliminate  him 
from  the  situation.  He  sat  down  again. 

The  nervous  wreck  made  himself  more  under- 
standable. 

"  Perhaps,  Jarvis,"  he  said,  shrinking  to  one 
side  like  a  man  in  sudden  pain,  "  the  gentleman 
can't  see  how  to  reach  that  large  door.  A  little 
more  light,  half  an  inch — not  a  fraction  more !  " 

"  Don't  bother,"  Hastings  told  Jarvis.  "  I'm 
not  going  quite  yet." 

"  Leaping  crime ! "  moaned  Mr.  Sloane,  dig- 


82  "NO  CLUE!" 

ging  deeper  into  the  pillows.  "Frantic 
imps!" 

"  I  hope  I  won't  distress  yon  too  much,"  the 
detective  apologized  grimly,  "  if  I  ask  you  a  few 
questions.  Fact  is,  I  must.  I'm  investigating 
the  circumstances  surrounding  what  may  turn 
out  to  be  a  baffling  crime,  and,  irrespective  of 
your  personal  wishes,  Mr.  Sloane,  I  can't  let  go 
of  it.  This  is  a  serious  business " 

The  sick  man  sat  up  in  bed  with  surprising 
abruptness. 

"  Serious  business !  Serious  saints ! — Jarvis, 
the  eau  de  cologne! — You  think  I  don't  know 
it?  They  make  a  slaughter-house  of  my  lawn. 
They  make  a  morgue  of  my  house.  They  hold 
a  coroner's  inquest  in  my  parlour.  They're  in 
there  now — live  people  like  ravens,  and  one  dead 
one.  They  cheat  the  undertaker  to  plague  me. 
They  wreck  me  all  over  again.  They  give  me 
a  new  exhaustion  of  the  nerves.  They  frighten 
my  daughter  to  death. — Jarvis,  the  smelling 
salts.  Shattered  saints,  Jarvis!  Hurry! 
Thanks. — They  rig  up  lies  which,  Tom  Wilton, 
my  old  and  trusted  friend,  tells  me,  will  incrimi- 
nate Berne  Webster.  They  sit  around  a  corpse 
in  my  house  and  chatter  by  the  hour.  You  come 
in  here  and  make  Jarvis  nearly  blind  me. 

"And,  then,  then,  by  the  holy,  agile  angels! 
you  think  you  have  to  persuade  me  it's  a  serious 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  ME.  SLOANE     83 

business !  Never  fear !  I  know  it ! — Jarvis,  the 
bromide,  quick !  Before  I  know  it,  they'll  drive 
me  to  opiates. — Serious  business!  Shrivelled 
and  shrinking  saints !  " 

Arms  clasped  around  his  legs,  knees  pressed 
against  his  chin,  Mr.  Sloane  trembled  and  shook 
until  Jarvis,  more  agile  than  the  angels  of  whom 
his  employer  had  spoken,  gave  him  the  dose  of 
bromides. 

Still,  Mr.  Hastings  did  not  retire. 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  he  resumed,  in  a  tone 
devoid  of  compassion,  "  I  couldn't  drop  this 
thing  now.  I  may  be  able  to  find  the  murderer ; 
and  you  may  be  able  to  help  me." 

"I?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Isn't  it  Russell?  He's  among  the  ravens 
now,  in  my  parlour.  Wilton  told  me  the  sheriff 
was  certain  Russell  was  the  man.  Murdered 
martyrs!  Sacrificed  saints!  Can't  you  let  a 
guilty  man  hang  when  he  comes  forward  and 
puts  the  rope  around  his  own  worthless  neck?  " 

"  If  Russell's  guilty,"  Hastings  said,  glad  of 
the  information  that  the  accused  man  was  then 
at  Sloanehurst,  "  I  hope  we  can  develop  the  nec- 
essary evidence  against  him.  But " 

"  The  necessary " 

"Let  me  finish,  Mr.  Sloane,  if  you  please!  " 
The  old  man  was  determined  to  disregard  the 


84  «  NO  CLUE !  " 

other's  signs  of  suffering.  He  did  not  believe 
that  they  were  anything  but  assumed,  the  exag- 
gerated camouflage  which  he  usually  employed 
as  an  excuse  for  idleness.  "  But,  if  Russell  isn't 
guilty,  there  are  facts  which  may  help  me  to 
find  the  murderer.  And  you  may  have  valuable 
information  concerning  them." 

"  Sobbing,  sorrowing  saints ! "  lamented  Mr. 
Sloane,  but  his  trembling  ceased;  he  was  closely 
attentive.  "  A  cigarette,  Jarvis,  a  cigarette ! 
Nerves  will  be  served. — I  suppose  the  easiest  way 
is  to  submit.  Go  on." 

"  I  shall  ask  you  only  two  or  three  questions," 
Hastings  said. 

The  jackknife-like  figure  in  the  bed  shuddered 
its  repugnance. 

"  I've  been  told,  Mr.  Sloane,  that  Mr.  Webster 
has  been  in  great  need  of  money,  as  much  as 
sixty-five  thousand  dollars.  In  fact,  according 
to  my  information,  he  needs  it  now." 

"Well,  did  he  kill  the  woman,  expecting  to 
find  it  in  her  stocking?  " 

"  The  significance  of  his  being  hard-pressed, 
for  so  large  an  amount,"  the  old  man  went  on, 
ignoring  the  sarcasm,  "  is  in  the  further  charge 
that  Miss  Brace  was  trying  to  make  him  marry 
her,  that  he  should  have  married  her,  that  he 
killed  her  in  order  to  be  free  to  marry  your 
daughter — for  money." 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE      85 

"  My  daughter !  For  money ! "  shrilled 
Sloane,  neck  elongated,  head  thrust  forward, 
eyes  bulging.  "  Leaping  and  whistling  cheru- 
bim !  "  For  all  his  outward  agitation,  he  seemed 
to  Hastings  in  thorough  command  of  his  logical 
faculties;  it  was  more  than  possible,  the  detec- 
tive thought,  that  the  expletives  were  time-killers, 
until  he  could  decide  what  to  say.  "  It's  ridicu- 
lous, absurd!  Why,  sir,  you  reason  as  loosely 
as  you  dress!  Are  you  trying  to  prostrate  me 
further  with  impossible  theories?  Webster 
marry  my  daughter  for  money,  for  sixty-five 
thousand  dollars?  He  knows  I'd  let  him  have 
any  amount  he  wanted.  I'd  give  him  the  money 
if  it  meant  his  peace  of  mind  and  Lucille's  hap- 
piness.— Dumb  and  dancing  devils!  Jarvis, 
a  little  whiskey!  I'm  worn  out,  worn 
out!" 

"  Did  you  ever  tell  Mr.  Webster  of  the  ex- 
tent of  your  generous  feeling  toward  him,  Mr. 
Sloane — in  dollars  and  cents?  " 

"  No ;  it  wasn't  necessary.  He  knows  how 
fond  of  him  I  am." 

"  And  you  would  let  him  have  sixty-five  thou- 
sand dollars — if  he  had  to  have  it?  " 

"  I  would,  sir ! — today,  this  morning." 

"  Now,  one  other  thing,  Mr.  Sloane,  and  I'm 
through.  It's  barely  possible  that  there  was 
some  connection  between  this  murder  and  a  let- 


86  "NO  CLUE!" 

ter  which  came  to  Sloanehurst  yesterday  after- 
noon, a  letter  in  an  oblong  grey  envelope. 
Did " 

The  nervous  man  went  to  pieces  again,  beat 
with  his  open  palms  on  the  bed  covering. 

"  Starved  and  stoned  evangels,  Jarvis !  Quit 
balling  your  feet!  You  stand  there  and  see  me 
harassed  to  the  point  of  extinction  by  a  lot  of 
crazy  queries,  and  you  indulge  yourself  in  that 
infernal  weakness  of  yours  of  balling  your  feet ! 
Leaping  angels !  You  know  how  acute  my  hear- 
ing is ;  you  know  the  noise  of  your  sock  against 
the  sole  of  your  shoe  when  you  ball  your  feet 
is  the  most  exquisite  torture  to  me!  A  little 
whiskey,  Jarvis !  Quick !  "  He  spoke  now  in  a 
weak,  almost  inaudible  voice  to  Hastings :  "  No ; 
I  got  no  such  letter.  I  saw  no  such  letter."  He 
sank  slowly  back  to  a  prone  posture. 

"  I  was  going  to  remind  you,"  the  detective 
continued,  "  that  I  brought  the  five  o'clock  mail 
in.  Getting  off  the  car,  I  met  the  rural  carrier ; 
he  asked  me  to  bring  in  the  mail,  saving  him 
the  few  steps  to  your  box.  All  there  was  con- 
sisted of  a  newspaper  and  one  letter.  I  recall 
the  shape  and  colour  of  the  envelope — oblong, 
grey.  I  did  not,  of  course,  look  at  the  address. 
I  handed  the  mail  to  you  when  you  met  me 
on  the  porch." 

Mr.  Sloane,  raising  himself  on  one  elbow  to 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MR.  SLOANE      87 

take  the  restoring  drink  from  Jarvis,  looked 
across  the  glass  at  his  cross-examiner. 

"  I  put  the  mail  in  the  basket  on  the  hall 
table,"  he  said  in  high-keyed  endeavour  to  ex- 
press withering  contempt.  "  If  it  had  been  for 
me,  Jarvis  would  have  brought  it  to  me  later. 
I  seldom  carry  my  reading  glasses  about  the 
house  with  me." 

Hastings,  subjecting  the  pallid  Jarvis  to  severe 
scrutiny,  asked  him: 

"  Was  that  grey  letter  addressed  to — whom?  " 

"  I  didn't  see  it,"  replied  Jarvis,  scarcely 
polite. 

"  And  yet,  it's  your  business  to  inspect  and 
deliver  the  household's  mail?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  became  of  it,  then — the  grey  envel- 
ope? " 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  say,  sir,  unless  some  one 
got  it  before  I  reached  the  mail  basket." 

Hastings  stood  up.  Interrogation  of  both  mas- 
ter and  man  had  given  him  nothing  save  the 
inescapable  conviction  that  both  of  them  re- 
sented his  questioning  and  would  do  nothing  to 
help  him.  The  reason  for  this  opposition  he 
could  not  grasp,  but  it  was  a  fact,  challenging 
his  analysis.  Arthur  Sloan e  rejected  his  prof- 
fered help  in  the  pursuit  of  the  man  who  had 
brought  murder  to  the  doors  of  Sloanehurst. 


88  "NO  CLUE!" 

Why?  Was  this  his  method  of  hiding  facts  in 
his  possession? 

Hastings  questioned  him  again: 

"  Your  waking  up  at  that  unusual  hour  last 
night — was  it  because  of  a  noise  outside?  " 

The  neurasthenic,  once  more  recumbent,  suc- 
ceeded in  voicing  faint  denial  of  having  heard 
any  noises,  outside  or  inside.  Nor  had  he  been 
aware  of  the  murder  until  called  by  Judge  Wil- 
ton. He  had  turned  on  his  light  to  find  the 
smelling-salts  which,  for  the  first  time  in  six 
years,  Jarvis  had  failed  to  leave  on  his  bed-table, 
—terrible  and  ill-trained  apes!  Couldn't  he  be 
left  in  peace? 

The  hall  door  opened,  admitting  Judge  Wil- 
ton. The  newcomer,  with  a  word  of  greeting 
to  Hastings,  sat  down  on  the  bedside  and  put 
a  hand  on  Sloane's  shoulder. 

Hastings  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"Any  news?  "  the  judge  asked  him. 

"  I've  just  been  asking  Mr.  Sloane  that,"  Hast- 
ings said,  in  a  tone  that  made  Wilton  look 
swiftly  at  his  friend's  face. 

"  I  told  Arthur  this  morning,"  he  said,  "  how 
lucky  he  was  that  you'd  promised  Lucille  to  go 
into  this  thing." 

"Apparently,"  Hastings  retorted  drily,  "he's 
unconvinced  of  the  extent  of  his  good  for- 
tune." 


THE  HOSTILITY  OF  MB.  SLOANE      89 

Mr.  Sloane,  quivering  from  head  to  foot, 
mourned  softly :  "  Unfathomable  fate !  " 

Wilton,  his  rugged  features  softening  to  frank 
amusement,  stared  a  moment  in  silence  at 
Sloane's  thin  face,  at  the  deeply  lined  forehead 
topped  by  stringy  grey  hair. 

"  See  here,  Arthur,"  he  protested,  nodding 
Hastings  an  invitation  to  remain ;  "  you  know  as 
much  about  crime  as  Hastings  and  I.  If  you've 
thought  about  this  murder  at  all,  you  must  see 
what  it  is.  If  Russell  isn't  guilty — if  he's  not  the 
man,  that  crime  was  committed  shrewdly,  with 
forethought.  And  it  was  a  devilish  thing — dev- 
ilish ! " 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "  Sloane  protested  shrilly, 
not  opening  his  eyes. 

"  Take  my  advice.  Quit  antagonizing  Mr. 
Hastings.  Be  thankful  that  he's  here,  that  he's 
promised  to  run  down  the  guilty  man." 

Mr.  Sloane  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

"A  little  whiskey,  Jarvis,"  he  said  softly. 
"  I'm  exhausted,  Tom.  Leave  me  alone." 

Wilton  waved  his  hand,  indicative  of  the  futil- 
ity of  further  argument. 

"Judge,"  announced  Hastings,  at  the  door, 
"  I'll  ask  you  a  question  I  put  to  Mr.  Sloane. 
Did  you  receive,  or  see,  a  letter  in  an  oblong, 
grey  envelope  in  yesterday  afternoon's 
mail?" 


90  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  No.  I  never  get  any  mail  while  I'm  here 
for  a  week-end." 

Wilton  followed  the  detective  into  the  hall. 

"  I  hope  yon're  not  going  to  give  up  the  case, 
Hastings.  You  won't  pay  any  attention  to 
Arthur's  unreasonable  attitude,  will  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Hastings  said,  still  indignant. 
"  I  made  my  bargain  with  his  daughter.  I'll  see 
her." 

"  If  you  can't  manage  any  other  way,  I — or 
she — will  get  any  information  you  want  from 
Arthur." 

"  I  hope  to  keep  on.  It's  a  big  thing,  I  think." 
The  old  man  was  again  intent  on  solving  the 
problem.  "  Tell  me,  judge;  do  you  think  Berne 
Webster's  guilty?"  Seeing  the  judge's  hesi- 
tance,  he  supplemented :  "  I  mean,  did  you  no- 
tice anything  last  night,  in  his  conduct,  that 
would  indicate  guilt — or  fear?  " 

Later,  when  other  developments  gave  this 
scene  immense  importance,  Hastings,  in  review- 
ing it,  remembered  the  curious  little  flicker  of 
the  judge's  eyelids  preceding  his  reply. 

"  Absolutely  not,"  he  declared,  with  emphasis. 
"  Are  you  working  on  that " — he  hesitated  hardly 
perceptibly — "  idea?  " 


VIII 

THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY 

ANCESTORS  of  the  old  family  from  whom 
Arthur  Sloane  had  purchased  this  colonial 
mansion  eight  years  ago  still  looked  out 
of  their  gilded  frames  on  the  parlour  walls,  their 
high-bred  calm  undisturbed,  their  aristocratic 
eyes  unwidened,  by  the  chatter  and  clatter  of 
the  strangers  within  their  gates.  Hastings  no- 
ticed that  even  the  mob  and  mouthing  of  a 
coroner's  inquest  failed  to  destroy  the  ancient 
atmosphere  and  charm  of  the  great  room.  He 
smiled.  The  pictured  grandeur  of  a  bygone 
age,  the  brocaded  mahogany  chairs,  the  tall 
French  mirrors — all  these  made  an  incongruous 
setting  for  the  harsh  machinery  of  crime-in- 
quiry. 

The  detective  had  completed  his  second  and 
more  detailed  search  of  the  guest-rooms  in  time 
to  hear  the  words  and  study  the  face  of  the 
last  witness  on  Dr.  Garnet's  list.  That  was 
Eugene  Russell. 

"  One  of  life's  persimmons — long  before 
frost! "  Hastings  thought,  making  swift  ap- 

91 


92  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

praisal.  "A  boneless  spine — chin  like  a  sheep 
— brave  as  a  lamb." 

Russell  could  not  conceal  his  agitation.  In 
fact,  he  referred  to  it.  Fear,  he  explained  in  a 
low,  husky  voice  to  the  coroner  and  the  jury, 
was  not  a  part  of  his  emotions.  His  only  feeling 
was  sorrow,  varied  now  and  then  by  the  embar- 
rassment he  felt  as  a  result  of  the  purely  per- 
sonal and  very  intimate  facts  which  he  had  to 
reveal. 

His  one  desire  was  to  be  frank,  he  declared, 
his  pale  blue  eyes  roving  from  place  to  place, 
his  nervous  fingers  incessantly  playing  with  his 
thin,  uncertain  lips.  This  mania  for  truthful- 
ness, he  asserted,  was  natural,  in  that  it  offered 
him  the  one  sure  path  to  freedom  and  the  es- 
tablishment of  his  innocence  of  all  connection 
with  the  murder  of  the  woman  he  had  loved. 

He  was,  he  testified,  thirty-one  years  old,  a 
clerk  in  a  real-estate  dealer's  office  and  a  native 
of  Washington.  Mildred  Brace  had  been  em- 
ployed for  a  few  weeks  by  the  same  firm  for 
which  he  worked,  and  it  was  there  that  he  had 
met  her.  Although  she  had  refused  to  marry 
him  on  the  ground  that  his  salary  was  inade- 
quate for  the  needs  of  two  people,  she  had  en- 
couraged his  attentions.  Sometimes,  they  had 
quarrelled. 

"  Speak  up,  Mr.  Russell ! "     Dr.  Garnet  di- 


THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY  93 

rected.  "  And  take  your  time.  Let  the  jury 
hear  every  word  you  utter." 

After  that,  the  witness  abandoned  his  attempt 
to  exclude  the  family  portraits  from  his  confi- 
dence, but  his  voice  shook. 

"  Conductor  Barton  is  right,"  he  said,  re- 
sponding to  the  coroner's  interrogation.  "  I  did 
come  out  on  his  car,  the  car  that  gets  to  the 
Sloanehurst  stop  at  ten-thirty,  and  I  did  leave 
the  car  at  the  Ridgecrest  stop,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  here.  I  was  following  Mil — Miss 
Brace.  I  saw  her  leave  her  apartment  house, 
the  Walman.  I  followed  her  to  the  transfer  sta- 
tion at  the  bridge,  and  I  saw  her  take  the  car 
there.  I  followed  on  the  next  car.  I  knew  where 
she  was  going,  knew  she  was  going  to  Sloane- 
hurst." 

"  How  did  you  know  that,  Mr.  Russell?  " 

"  I  mean  I  was  certain  of  it.  She'd  told  me 
Mr.  Berne  Webster,  the  lawyer  she'd  been  work- 
ing for,  was  out  here  spending  the  week-end; 
and  I  knew  she  was  coming  out  to  meet  him." 

"  Why  did  she  do  that?  " 

Mr.  Russell  displayed  pathetic  embarrass- 
ment and  confusion  before  he  answered  that.  He 
plucked  at  his  lower  lip  with  spasmodic  fingers. 
His  eyes  were  downcast.  He  attempted  a  self- 
deprecatory  smile  which  ended  in  an  unpleasant 
grimace. 


94  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  She  wouldn't  say.  But  it  was  because  she 
was  in  love  with  him." 

"  And  you  were  jealous  of  Mr.  Webster?  " 

"  We-e1! — yes,  sir;  that's  about  it,  I  guess." 

"  Did  Miss  Brace  tell  you  she  was  coming  to 
Sloanehurst?  " 

"  No,  sir.    I  suspected  it." 

"  And  watched  her  movements?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  followed  her?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Why  did  you  think  she  was  in  love  with 
Mr.  Webster,  Mr.  Russell?  And  please  give 
us  a  direct  answer.  You  can  understand 
the  importance  of  what  you're  about  to 
say." 

"  I  do.  I  thought  so  because  she  had  told  me 
that  he  was  in  love  with  her,  and  because  of 
her  grief  and  anger  when  he  dismissed  her  from 
his  office.  And  she  did  everything  to  make  me 
think  so,  except  declaring  it  outright.  She  did 
that  because  she  knew  I  hated  to  think  she  was 
in  love  with  him." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Russell.  Now,  tell  us  what 
happened  during  your — ah — shadowing  Miss 
Brace  the  night  she  was  killed." 

"  I  got  off  the  car  at  Ridgecrest  and  walked 
toward  Sloanehurst.  It  was  raining  then,  pretty 
hard.  I  thought  she  had  made  an  appointment 


THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY          95 

to  meet  Mr.  Webster  somewhere  in  the  grounds 
here.  It  was  a  quarter  to  eleven  when  I  got  to 
the  little  side-gate  that  opens  on  the  lawn  out 
there  on  the  north  side  of  the  house." 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " 

"  I  looked  at  mv  watch  then.  It's  got  a  lumi- 
nous dial." 

"You  were  then  at  the  gate  near  where  she 
was  found,  dead?  " 

"  Yes.    And  she  was  at  the  gate." 

"  Oh !    So  you  saw  her?  " 

"  I  saw  her.  When  I  lifted  the  latch  of  the 
gate,  she  came  toward  me.  There  was  a  heavy 
drizzle  then.  I  thought  she  had  been  leaning  on 
the  fence  a  few  feet  away.  She  whispered,  sharp 
and  quick, '  Who's  that? '  I  knew  who  she  was, 
right  off.  I  said,  <  Gene.' 

"  She  caught  hold  of  my  arm  and  shook  it. 
She  told  me,  still  whispering,  if  I  didn't  get 
away  from  there,  if  I  didn't  go  back  to  town, 
she'd  raise  an  alarm,  accuse  me  of  trying  to  kill 
her — or  she'd  kill  me.  She  pressed  something 
against  my  cheek.  It  felt  like  a  knife,  although 
I  couldn't  see,  for  the  darkness." 

The  witness  paused  and  licked  his  dry  lips. 
He  was  breathing  fast,  and  his  restless  eyes  had 
a  hunted  look.  The  people  in  the  room  leaned 
farther  toward  him,  some  believing,  some  doubt- 
ing him. 


96  "NO  CLUE!" 

Hastings  thought :  "  He's  scared  stiff,  but  tell- 
ing the  truth — so  far." 

"All  right;  what  next?"  asked  Dr.  Garnet, 
involuntarily  lowering  his  voice  to  Russell's 
tone. 

"  I  accused  her  of  having  an  appointment  to 
meet  Webster  there.  I  got  mad.  I  hate  to  have 
to  tell  all  this,  gentlemen;  but  I  want  to  tell 
the  truth.  I  told  her  she  was  a  fool  to  run  after 
a  man  who'd  thrown  her  over. 

" '  It's  none  of  your  look-out  what  I  do ! '  she 
told  me.  '  You  get  away  from  here,  now — this 
minute !  You'll  be  sorry  if  you  don't ! '  There 
was  something  about  her  that  frightened  me, 
mad  as  I  was.  I'd  never  seen  her  like  that 
before." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Garnet  urged  him. 

"  I  thought  she  would  kill  me,  or  somebody 
else  would,  and  she  knew  it.  I  got  the  idea 
that  she  was  like  a  crazy  woman,  out  of  her 
head  about  Webster,  ready  to  do  anything  des- 
perate, anything  wild.  I  can't  explain  it  any 
better  than  that." 

"  And  did  you  leave  her?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  At  once?  " 

"Practically.  A  sort  of  panic  got  hold  of 
me.  I  can't  explain  it,  really." 

Russell,  seeking  an  illuminative  phrase,  gave 


THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY          97 

vent  to  a  long-drawn,  anxious  sigh.  He  ap- 
peared to  feel  no  shame  for  his  flight.  His  fear 
was  that  he  would  not  be  believed. 

"  Just  as  she  told  me  a  second  time  to  leave 
her,  I  thought  I  heard  somebody  coming  to- 
ward us,  a  slushy,  dull  sound,  like  heavy  foot- 
steps on  the  wet  grass.  Mildred's  manner,  her 
voice,  had  already  scared  me. 

"  When  I  heard  those  footsteps,  I  turned  and 
ran.  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth.  I  ran  out 
to  the  road  and  back  toward  Washington.  I  ran 
as  fast  as  I  could.  Twice  I  fell  on  my  hands 
and  knees.  I  can't  tell  you  exactly  how  it  was, 
why  it  was.  I  just  knew  something  terrible 
would  happen  if  I  stayed  there.  I  never  had 
a  feeling  like  that  before.  I  was  more  afraid 
of  her  than  I  was  of  the  man  coming  toward 
us." 

Members  of  the  jury  pushed  back  their  chairs, 
were  audible  with  subdued  exclamations  and 
long  breaths,  relieved  of  the  nervous  tension  to 
which  Russell's  story  of  the  encounter  at  the 
gate  had  lifted  them.  They  were,  however, 
prejudiced  against  him,  a  fact  which  he  grasped. 

One  of  them  asked  him: 

"  Can  you  tell  us  why  you  followed  her  out 
here?  " 

"  Why?  "  Russell  echoed,  like  a  man  seeking 
time  for  deliberation. 


98  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

"Yes.  What  did  you  think  you'd  do  after 
you'd  overtaken  her?  " 

"  Persuade  her  to  go  back  home  with  me.  I 
wanted  to  save  her  from  doing  anything  foolish 
— anything  like  that,  you  know." 

"  But,  from  what  you've  told  us  here  this 
morning,  it  seems  you  never  had  much  influence 
on  her  behaviour.  Isn't  that  true?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  is. — But,"  Russell  added  eagerly, 
"  I  can  prove  I  had  no  idea  of  hurting  her,  if 
that's  what  you're  hinting  at.  I  can  prove  I 
never  struck  her.  At  twenty  minutes  past  eleven 
last  night  I  was  four  miles  from  here.  Mr. 
Otis,  a  Washington  commission  merchant,  picked 
me  up  in  his  automobile,  six  miles  outside  of 
Washington  and  took  me  into  town.  I  couldn't 
have  made  that  four  miles  on  foot,  no  matter 
how  I  ran,  in  approximately  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes. 

"  It's  been  proved  that  she  was  struck  down 
after  eleven  anyway. — You  said  the  condition 
of  the  body  showed  that,  doctor. — You  see,  I 
would  have  had  to  make  the  four  miles  in  less 
than  twenty  minutes — an  impossibility.  You 
see?" 

His  eagerness  to  win  their  confidence  put  a 
disagreeable  note,  almost  a  whimper,  into  his 
voice.  It  grated  on  Dr.  Garnet. 

It  affected  Hastings  more  definitely. 


THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY          99 

"  Now,"  he  decided,  "  he's  lying — about  some- 
thing. But  what?  "  He  noted  a  change  in  Rus- 
sell's face,  a  suggestion  of  craftiness,  the  merest 
shadow  of  slyness  over  his  general  attitude  of 
anxiety.  And  yet,  this  part  of  his  story  seemed 
straight  enough. 

Dr.  Garnet's  next  question  brought  out  the 
fact  that  it  would  be  corroborated. 

"This    Mr.    Otis,    Mr.    Russell;    where    is 
he?" 

"  Right  there,  by  the  window,"  the  witness  an- 
swered, with  a  smug  smile  which  gave  him  a 
still  more  unprepossessing  look. 

Jury  and  spectators  turned  toward  the  man 
at  the  window.  They  saw  a  clean-shaven,  alert- 
looking  person  of  middle  age,  who  nodded 
slightly  in  Russell's  direction  as  if  endorsing 
his  testimony.  There  seemed  no  possible 
grounds  for  doubting  whatever  Otis  might  say. 
Hastings  at  once  accepted  him  as  genuine,  an 
opinion  which,  it  was  obvious,  was  shared  by 
the  rest  of  the  assemblage. 

Russell  sensed  the  change  of  sentiment  toward 
himself.  Until  now,  it  had  been  a  certainty  that 
he  would  be  held  for  the  murder.  But  his  pro- 
ducing an  outsider,  incontestably  a  trustworthy 
man,  to  establish  the  truth  of  his  statement  that 
he  had  been  four  miles  away  from  the  scene 
of  the  crime  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  it  had 


100  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

been  committed — that  was  something  in  his  fa- 
vour which  could  not  be  gainsaid. 
.  Granting  even  that  he  had  had  an  automobile 
at  his  disposal — a  supposition  for  which  there 
was  no  foundation — his  alibi  would  still  have 
been  good,  in  view  of  the  rain  and  the  fact  that 
one  of  the  four  miles  in  question  was  "  dirt 
road." 

With  the  realization  of  this,  the  jury  swung 
back  to  the  animus  it  had  felt  against  Webster, 
the  incredulity  with  which  it  had  received  his 
statement  that  there  had  been  between  him  and 
the  dead  woman  no  closer  relationship  than  that 
of  employer  and  employe. 

Webster,  seated  near  the  wall  furthest  from 
the  jury,  felt  the  inquiry  of  many  eyes  upon 
him,  but  he  was  unmoved,  kept  his  gaze  on  Rus- 
sell. 

Dr.  Garnet,  announcing  that  he  would  ask 
Mr.  Otis  to  testify  a  little  later,  handed  Russell 
the  weapon  with  which  Mildred  Brace  had  been 
murdered. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  that  dagger  before? " 
he  asked. 

Russell  said  he  had  not.  Reminded  that  Sheriff 
Crown  had  testified  to  searching  the  witness's 
room  and  had  discovered  that  a  nail  file  was 
missing  from  his  dressing  case,  a  file  which, 
judging  by  other  articles  in  the  case,  must  have 


THE  MAN  WHO  RAN  AWAY         101 

been  the  same  size  as  the  one  used  in  making 
the  amateur  dagger,  Kussell  declared  that  his 
file  had  been  lost  for  three  years.  He  had  left 
it  in  a  hotel  room  on  the  only  trip  he  had  ever 
taken  to  New  York. 

He  gave  way  to  Mr.  Otis,  who  described  him- 
self as  a  commission  merchant  of  Washington. 
Returning  from  a  tour  to  Lynchburg,  Virginia, 
he  said,  he  had  been  hailed  last  night  by  a  man 
in  the  road  and  had  agreed  to  take  him  into 
town,  a  ride  of  six  miles.  Reaching  Washington 
shortly  before  midnight,  he  had  dropped  his  pas- 
senger at  Eleventh  and  F  streets. 

"  Who  was  this  passenger?  "  inquired  Garnet. 

"  He  told  me,"  said  Otis,  "  his  name  was  Eu- 
gene Russell.  I  gave  him  my  name.  That  ex- 
plains how  he  was  able  to  find  me  this  morning. 
W^hen  he  told  me  how  he  was  situated,  I  agreed 
to  come  over  here  and  give  you  gentlemen  the 
facts." 

"  Notice  anything  peculiar  about  Mr.  Russell 
last  night?  " 

"No;  I  think  not." 

"  Was  he  agitated,  disturbed?  " 

"  He  was  out  of  breath.  And  he  commented 
on  that  himself,  said  he'd  been  walking  fast. 
Oh,  yes !  He  was  bareheaded ;  and  he  explained 
that — said  the  rain  had  ruined  a  cheap  straw 
hat  he  had  been  wearing;  the  glue  had  run  out 


102  "NO  CLUE!" 

of  the  straw  and  down  his  neck,  he  had  thrown 
the  hat  away." 

"And  the  time?  When  did  you  pick  him 
up?" 

"  It  was  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  o'clock. 
When  I  stopped,  I  glanced  at  my  machine  clock ; 
I  carry  a  clock  just  above  my  speedometer." 

Mr.  Otis  was  positive  in  his  statements.  He 
realized,  he  said,  that  his  words  might  relieve 
one  man  of  suspicion  and  bring  it  upon  another. 
Unless  he  had  been  absolutely  certain  of  his 
facts,  he  would  not  have  stated  them.  He  was 
sure,  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt,  that  he 
had  made  no  mistake  when  he  looked  at  his 
automobile  clock;  it  was  running  when  he 
stopped  and  when  he  reached  Washington;  yes, 
it  was  an  accurate  timepiece. 

Russell's  alibi  was  established.  His  defence 
appealed  to  the  jurymen  as  unassailable.  When, 
after  a  conference  of  less  than  half  an  hour,  they 
brought  in  a  verdict  that  Mildred  Brace  had  been 
murdered  by  a  thrust  of  the  "  nail-file  dagger  " 
in  the  hands  of  a  person  unknown,  nobody  in 
the  room  was  surprised. 

And  nobody  was  blind  to  the  fact  that  the  free- 
ing of  Eugene  Russell  seriously  questioned  the 
innocence  of  Berne  Webster. 


IX 

THE    BREAKING    DOWN    OF    WEBSTER 

HASTINGS,  sprawling  comfortably  in  a 
low  chair  by  the  south  window  in  the 
music  room,  stopped  his  whittling  when 
Berne  Webster  came  in  with  Judge  Wilton. 
"  Meddlesome  Mike ! "  thought  the  detective. 
"  I  sent  for  Webster." 

"  Berne  asked  me  to  come  with  him,"  the  judge 
explained  his  presence  at  once.  "  We've  talked 
things  over ;  he  thought  I  might  help  him  bring 
out  every  detail — jog  his  memory,  if  necessary." 

Hastings  did  not  protest  the  arrangement.  He 
saw,  almost  immediately,  that  Webster  had  come 
with  no  intention  of  giving  him  hearty  coopera- 
tion. The  motive  for  this  lack  of  frankness  he 
could  not  determine.  It  was  enough  that  he 
felt  the  younger  man's  veiled  antagonism  and 
appreciated  the  fact  that  Wilton  accompanied 
him  in  the  role  of  protector. 

"If  I'm  to  get  anything  worth  while  out  of 
this  talk,"  he  decided,  "  I've  got  to  mix  up  my 
delivery,  shuffle  the  cards,  spring  first  one  thing 
and  then  another  at  him — bewilder  him." 

103 


104  "NO  CLUE!" 

He  proceeded  with  that  definite  design :  at  an 
opportune  time,  he  would  guide  the  narrative, 
take  it  out  of  Webster's  hands,  and  find  out 
what  he  wanted  to  know,  not  merely  what  the 
young  lawyer  wanted  to  tell.  He  recognized  the 
necessity  of  breaking  down  the  shell  of  self-con- 
trol that  overlaid  the  suspected  man's  uneasi- 


That  it  was  only  a  shell,  he  felt  sure.  Web- 
ster, leaning  an  elbow  lightly  on  the  piano, 
looked  down  at  him  out  of  anxious  eyes,  and 
continually  passed  his  right  hand  over  his 
smooth,  dark-brown  hair  from  forehead  to  crown, 
a  mechanical  gesture  of  his  when  perplexed. 

His  smile,  too,  was  forced,  hardly  more  than 
a  slight,  fixed  twist  of  the  lips,  as  if  he  strove 
to  advertise  hib  ability  to  laugh  at  danger.  His 
customary  dash,  a  pleasing  levity  of  manner,  was 
gone,  giving  place  to  a  suggestion  of  strain,  so 
that  he  seemed  always  on  the  alert  against  him- 
self, determined  to  edit  in  advance  his  answer 
to  every  question. 

Wilton  had  chosen  a  chair  which  placed  him 
directly  opposite  Hastings  and  at  the  same  time 
enabled  him  to  watch  Webster.  He  was  smok- 
ing a  cigar,  and,  through  the  haze  that  floated 
up  just  then  from  his  lips,  he  gave  the  detective 
a  long,  searching  look,  to  which  Hastings  paid 
no  attention. 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OP  WEBSTER    105 

Webster  talked  nearly  twenty  minutes,  ex- 
plaining his  eagerness  to  be  "  thoroughly  frank 
as  to  every  detail,"  reviewing  the  evidence 
brought  out  by  the  inquest,  and  criticising  the 
action  of  the  jury,  but  producing  nothing  new. 
Occasionally  he  left  the  piano  and  paced  the 
floor,  smoking  interminably,  lighting  the  fresh 
cigarette  from  the  stub  of  the  old,  obviously 
strung  to  the  limit  of  his  nervous  strength. 
Hastings  detected  a  little  twitching  of  the  mus- 
cles at  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  the  too 
frequent  winking  of  his  eyes. 

Judge  Wilton  had  told  him,  Webster  con- 
tinued, of  Mrs.  Brace's  charge  that  he  wanted 
to  marry  Miss  Sloane  because  of  financial  pres- 
sure; there  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it;  he 
had  already  arranged  for  a  loan  to  make  that 
payment  when  it  fell  due.  He  was,  however, 
aware  of  his  unenviable  position,  and  he  wanted 
to  give  the  detective  every  assistance  possible, 
in  that  way  assuring  his  own  prompt  relief  from 
embarrassment. 

By  this  time,  Hastings  had  mapped  out  his 
line  of  questioning,  his  assault  on  Webster's  reti- 
cence. 

"That's  the  right  idea!  "  he  said,  getting  to 
his  feet.  "  Let's  go  to  work." 

They  saw  the  change  in  him.  Instead  of  the 
genial,  drawling,  slow-moving  old  fellow  who 


106  "NO  CLUE!" 

had  seemed  thankful  for  anything  he  might 
chance  to  hear,  they  were  confronted  now  by 
an  aroused,  quick-thinking  man  whose  words 
came  from  him  with  a  sharp,  clipped-off  effect, 
and  whose  questions  scouted  the  whole  field  of 
their  possible  and  probable  information.  He 
stood  leaning  his  elbows-  on  the  other  end  of  the 
piano,  facing  Webster  across  the  polished  length 
of  its  broad  top.  His  dominance  of  the  night 
before,  in  the  library,  had  returned. 

"Now,  Mr.  Webster,"  he  began,  innocent  of 
threat,  "  as  things  stack  up  at  present,  only  two 
people  had  the  semblance  of  a  motive  for  killing 
Mildred  Brace — either  Eugene  Kussell  killed  her 
out  of  jealousy  of  you ;  or  you  killed  her  to 
silence  her  demands.  Do  you  see  that?" 

He  had  put  back  his  head  a  little  and  was 
peering  at  Webster  under  his  spectacle-rims, 
down  the  line  of  his  nose.  He  saw  how  the  other 
fought  down  the  impulse  to  deny,  hesitating  be- 
fore answering,  with  a  laugh  on  a  high  note,  like 
derision : 

"  I  suppose  that's  what  a  lot  of  people  will 
say." 

"  Precisely.  Now,  I've  just  had  a  talk  with 
this  Russell — caught  him  after  the  inquest.  I 
believe  there's  something  rotten  about  that  alibi 
of  his;  but  I  couldn't  shake  him;  and  the  Otis 
testimony's  sound.  So  we'll  have  to  quit  count' 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    107 

ing  on  Russell's  proving  his  own  guilt.  We've 
got  that  little  job  on  our  hands,  and  the  best 
way  to  handle  it  is  to  prove  your  jnnocence. 
See  that?  " 

The  bow  with  which  Webster  acknowledged 
this  statement  was  a  curious  mingling  of  grace 
and  mockery.  The  detective  ignored  it. 

"  And,"  he  continued,  "  there's  only  one  way 
for  you  to  come  whole  out  of  this  muddle — 
frankness.  I'm  working  for  you;  you  know 
that.  Tell  me  everything  you  know,  and  we've 
got  a  chance  to  win.  The  innocent  man  who 
tries  to  twist  black  into  white  is  an  innocent 
fool."  He  looked  swiftly  to  Wilton,  who  was 
leaning  far  back  in  his  chair,  head  lolling  slowly 
from  side  to  side,  the  picture  of  indifference. 
"  Isn't  that  so,  judge?  " 

"  Quite,"  Wilton  agreed,  pausing  to  remove 
his  cigar  from  his  mouth. 

"Of  course,  it's  so,"  Webster  said  curtly. 
"  I've  just  told  you  so.  That's  why  I've  decided 
— the  judge  and  I  have  talked  it  over — to  give 
you  something  in  confidence." 

"  One  moment ! "  Hastings  warned  him. 
"  Maybe,  I  won't  take  it  in  confidence — if  it's 
something  incriminating  you." 

"Yes;  you've  phrased  that  unfortunately, 
Berne,"  the  judge  put  in,  tilting  his  head  on 
the  chair-back  to  meet  the  detective's  look. 


108  "NO  CLUE!" 

Webster  was  nonplussed.  Apparently,  his  sur- 
prise came  from  the  judge's  remark  rather  than 
from  the  detective's  refusal  to  assume  the  rdle 
of  confidant.  Hastings  inferred  that  Wilton, 
agreeing  beforehand  to  the  proposal  being  ad- 
vanced, had  changed  his  mind  after  entering  the 
room. 

"  Hastings  is  right,"  the  judge  concluded ; 
"  even  if  he's  on  your  side,  you  can't  expect  him 
to  be  tied  up  blind  that  way  by  a  suspected  man 
— and  you're  just  that,  Berne." 

Seeing  Webster's  uncertainty,  Hastings  took 
another  course. 

"  I  think  I  know  what  you're  talking  about, 
Mr.  Webster,"  he  said,  matter-of-fact.  "Your 
nail-file's  missing  from  your  dressing  case — dis- 
appeared since  yesterday  morning." 

"  You  know  that ! "  Berne  flashed,  suddenly 
angry.  "  And  you're  holding  it  over  me !  " 

Open  hostility  was  in  every  feature  of  his 
face;  his  lips  twitched  to  the  sharp  intake  of 
his  breath. 

"Why  don't  you  look  at  it  another  way?" 
the  old  man  countered  quickly.  "  If  I'd  told 
the  coroner  about  it — if  I'd  told  him  also  that 
the  size  of  that  nail-file,  judging  from  the  rest 
of  the  dressing  case,  matched  that  of  the  one 
used  for  the  blade  of  the  dagger,  matched  it  as 
well  as  Russell's — what  then?  " 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    109 

"  He's  right,  Berne,"  Wilton  cautioned  again. 
"  He's  taken  the  friendly  course." 

"  I  understand  that,  judge,"  Berne  said ;  and, 
without  answering  Hastings,  turned  squarely  to 
Wilton :  "  But  it's  a  thin  clue.  He  admits  Rus- 
sell lost  a  nail-file,  too." 

"  Several  years  ago,"  Hastings  goaded,  so  that 
Webster  pivoted  on  his  heel  to  face  him ;  "  you 
lost  yours  when? — last  night? — this  morning?" 

"  I  don't  know !  I  noticed  its  absence  this 
morning." 

"  There  you  are ! — But,"  Hastings  qualified,  to 
avoid  the  quarrel,  "  the  nail-file  isn't  much  of  a 
clue  if  unsupported."  He  approached  cordiality. 
"And  I  appreciate  your  intending  to  tell  me. 
That  was  what  you  intended  to  give  me  in  con- 
fidence, wasn't  it?  " 

"Yes,"  Webster  answered,  half -sullen. 

Hastings  changed  the  subject  again. 

"  Did  you  know  Mildred  Brace  intended  to 
clear  out,  leave  Washington,  today?  " 

"  Why,  no!  "  Webster  shot  that  out  in  genu- 
ine surprise. 

"  I  got  it  from  Russell,"  Hastings  informed, 
and  went  at  once  to  another  topic. 

"  And  that  brings  us  to  the  letter.  Judge  Wil- 
ton tell  you  about  that?  " 

Webster  was  lighting  a  cigarette,  with  diffi- 
culty holding  the  fire  of  the  old  one  to  the  end 


110  "NO  CLUE!" 

of  the  new.  The  operation  seemed  to  entail  hard 
labour  for  him. 

"  In  the  grey  envelope?  "  he  responded,  draw- 
ing on  the  cigarette.  "  Yes.  I  didn't  get  it." 

He  took  off  his  coat.  The  heat  oppressed  him. 
'At  frequent  intervals  he  passed  his  handkerchief 
around  the  inside  of  his  collar,  which  was  wilt- 
ing. Now,  more  than  ever,  he  gave  the  im- 
pression of  exaggerated  watchfulness,  as  if  he 
attempted  prevision  of  the  detective's  questions. 

"  Nobody  got  it,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,"  Hast- 
ings said,  a  note  of  sternness  breaking  through 
the  surface  of  his  tone.  "  It  vanished  into  thin 
air.  That's  the  most  mysterious  thing  about 
this  mysterious  murder." 

He,  in  his  turn,  began  pacing  the  floor,  a  short 
distance  to  and  fro  in  front  of  Judge  Wilton's 
chair,  his  hands  behind  him,  flopping  the  baggy 
tail  of  his  coat  from  side  to  side. 

"You  doubtless  see  the  gravity  of  the  facts: 
that  letter  was  mailed  to  Sloanehurst.  Russell 
has  just  told  me  so.  She  waved  it  in  his  face, 
to  taunt  him  about  you,  before  she  dropped  it 
into  the  mail-box,  He  swears" — Hastings 
stopped,  at  the  far  end  of  his  pacing,  and  looked 
hard  at  Webster — "  it  was  addressed  to  you." 

Webster,  again  with  his  queer,  high-pitched 
laugh,  like  derision,  threw  back  his  head  and 
took  two  long  strides  toward  the  centre  of  the 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    111 

room.  There  he  stood  a  moment,  hands  in  his 
pockets,  while  he  stared  at  the  toe  of  his  right 
shoe,  which  he  was  carefully  adjusting  to  a  crack 
in  the  flooring. 

Judge  Wilton  made  his  chair  crackle  as  he 
moved  to  look  at  Webster.  It  was  the  weight 
of  the  detective's  gaze,  however,  that  drew  the 
lawyer's  attention;  when  he  looked  up,  his  eyes 
were  half-closed,  as  if  the  light  had  suddenly 
become  painful  to  them. 

"  That  would  be  Russell's  game,  wouldn't  it?  " 
he  retorted,  at  last. 

"  Mrs.  Brace  told  me  the  same  thing,"  Hast- 
ings said  quietly,  flashing  a  look  at  Wilton  and 
back  to  the  other. 

"  Damn  her !  "  Webster  broke  forth  with  such 
vehemence  that  Wilton  stared  at  him  in  amaze- 
ment. "  Damn  her !  And  that's  the  first  time  I 
ever  said  that  of  a  woman.  It's  as  I  suspected, 
as  I  expected.  She's  begun  some  sort  of  a 
crooked  game ! " 

He  trembled  like  a  man  with  a  chill.  Hastings 
gave  him  no  time  to  recover  himself. 

"You  know  Mrs.  Brace,  then?  Know  her 
well?"  he  pressed. 

"  Well  enough ! "  Webster  retorted  with  hot 
repugnance.  "Well  enough,  although  I  never 
had  but  one  conversation  with  her — if  you  may 
call  that  bedlam  wildness  a  conversation.  She 


112  "  NO  CLUE ! " 

came  to  my  office  the  second  day  after  I'd  dis- 
missed her  daughter.  She  made  a  scene.  She 
charged  me  with  ruining  her  daughter's  life, 
threatened  suit  for  breach  of  promise.  She  said 
she'd  *  get  even '  with  me  if  it  took  her  the  rest 
of  her  life.  I  don't  as  a  rule  pay  much  attention 
to  violent  women,  Mr.  Hastings ;  but  there  was 
something  about  her  that  affected  me  strongly, 
she's  implacable,  and  like  stone,  not  like  a 
woman.  You  saw  her — understand  what  I 
mean?  " 

"Perfectly,"  agreed  Hastings. 

There  flashed  across  his  mind  a  picture  of  that 
incomprehensible  woman's  face,  the  black  line 
of  her  eyebrows  lifted  half-way  to  her  hair,  the 
abnormal  wetness  of  her  lips  thickened  by  a 
sneer.  "  If  she's  been  after  this  man  for  two 
weeks,"  he  thought,  "  I  can  understand  his 
trembles ! " 

But  he  hurried  the  inquiry. 

"  So  you  think  she  lied  about  that  letter?  " 

"  Of  course !  "  Webster  laughed  on  a  high 
note.  "  Next,  I  suppose,  she'll  produce  the  let- 
ter." 

"  She  can't  very  well  do  that." 

Something  in  his  voice  alarmed  the  suspected 
man. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked. 

Hastings  smiled. 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OP  WEBSTER   113 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Webster  asked  again, 
his  voice  lowered,  and  came  a  step  nearer  to 
the  detective. 

Hastings  took  a  piece  of  paper  from  his 
pocket. 

"  Here's  the  flap  of  the  grey  envelope,"  he 
said,  as  if  that  was  all  the  information  he  meant 
to  impart. 

Webster  urged  him,  with  eyes  and  voice : 

"Well?" 

"And  on  the  back  of  it  is  some  of  Mildred 
Brace's  handwriting." 

The  old  man  examined  the  piece  of  paper  with 
every  show  of  absorption.  He  could  hear  Web- 
ster's hurried  breathing,  and  the  gulp  when  he 
swallowed  the  lump  in  his  throat. 

The  scene  had  got  hold  of  Wilton  also.  Lean- 
ing forward  in  his  chair,  his  lips  half-parted,  the 
thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  mechani- 
cally fubbing  out  his  cigar,  so  that  a  little  stream 
of  fire  trickled  to  the  floor,  he  gazed  unwinking 
at  the  envelope  flap. 

Webster  went  a  step  nearer  to  Hastings,  and 
stood,  passing  his  hand  across  the  top  of  his 
head  and  staring  again  out  of  his  half-closed 
eyes,  as  if  the  light  had  hurt  them. 

"  And,"  the  old  man  said,  regarding  Webster 
keenly  but  keeping  any  hint  of  accusation  out 
of  his  voice,  "  I  found  it  last  night  in  the  fire- 


114  "NO  CLUE!" 

place,  behind  the  screen,  in  your  room  up- 
stairs." 

He  paused,  looking  toward  the  door,  his  atten- 
tion caught  by  a  noise  in  the  hall. 

Webster  laughed,  on  the  high,  derisive  note. 
He  was  noticeably  pale. 

"  Come,  man !  "  Judge  Wilton  said,  harsh  and 
imperious.  "  Can't  you  see  the  boy's  suffering? 
What's  written  on  it?" 

"  What  difference  does  it  make — the  writing?  " 
Webster  objected,  with  a  movement  of  his  shoul- 
ders that  looked  like  a  great  effort  to  pull  him- 
self together.  "  If  there's  any  at  all,  it's  faked. 
Faked!  That's  what  it  is.  People  don't  write 
on  the  inside  of  envelope  flaps." 

His  face  did  not  express  the  assurance  he 
tried  to  put  into  his  voice.  He  went  back  to  the 
piano  and.  leaned  on  it,  his  posture  such  that 
it  might  have  indicated  a  nonchalant  ease  or, 
equally  well,  might  have  betrayed  his  desperate 
need  of  support. 

"  This  letter  incident  can't  be  waved  away," 
Hastings,  without  handing  over  the  scrap  of 
envelope,  proceeded  in  even,  measured  tones — 
using  his  sentences  as  if  they  were  hammers  with 
which  he  assailed  the  young  lawyer's  remnants 
of  self-control.  "  You're  not  trifling  with  a  jury, 
Mr.  Webster.  I  believe  I  know  as  much  about 
the  value  of  facts,  this  kind  of  facts,  as  you 


THE  BKEAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    115 

do.    Consider  what  you're  up  against.    You ': 

Webster  put  up  a  hand  in  protest,  the  fingers 
so  unsteady  that  they  dropped  the  cigarette 
which  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  lighting. 

"  Just  a  moment !  "  the  old  man  commanded 
him.  "  This  Mildred  Brace  claimed  she  had  suf- 
fered injury  at  your  hands.  You  fired  her  out 
of  your  office.  She  and  her  mother  afterwards 
pursued  you.  She  came  out  here  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  where  she  knew  you  were.  She 
was  murdered,  and  by  a  weapon  whose  blade 
may  have  been  fashiond  from  an  article  you  pos- 
sessed, an  article  which  is  now  missing,  missing 
since  you  came  to  Sloanehurst  this  time.  You 
were  found  bending  over  the  dead  body. 

"  Her  mother  and  her  closest  friend,  her 
would-be  fiance',  say  she  wrote  to  you  Friday 
night,  addressing  her  letter  to  Sloanehurst.  The 
flap  of  an  envelope,  identified  by  her  mother  and 
friend,  and  bearing  the  impression  in  ink  of 
her  handwriting,  is  found  in  the  fireplace  of  your 
room  here.  The  man  who  followed  her  out  here, 
who  might  have  been  suspected  of  the  murder, 
has  proved  an  alibi 

"  Now,  I  ask  you,  as  a  lawyer  and  a  sensible 
man,  who's  going  to  believe  that  she  came  out 
here  without  having  notified  you  of  her  coming? 
Who,  as  facts  stand  now,  is  going  to  believe 
anything  but  that  you,  desperate  with  the  fear 


116  "NO  CLUE!" 

that  she  would  make  revelations  which  would 
prevent  your  marriage  to  Miss  Sloane  and  keep 
you  from  access  to  an  immense  amount  of  money 
which  you  needed — who's  going  to  believe  you 
didn't  kill  her,  didn't  strike  her  down,  there 
in  the  night,  according  to  a  premeditated  plan, 
with  a  dagger  which,  for  better  protection  of 
yourself,  you  had  manufactured  in  a  way  which 
you  hoped  would  make  it  beyond  identification? 
Who's " 

Wilton  intervened  again. 

"  What's  your  object,  Hastings? "  he  de- 
manded, springing  from  his  chair.  "  You're 
treating  Berne  as  if  he'd  killed  the  woman  and 
you  could  prove  it !  " 

Webster  was  swaying  on  his  feet,  falling  a 
little  away  from  the  piano  and  reeling  against 
it  again,  his  elbows  sliding  back  and  forth  on 
its  top.  He  was  extremely  pale;  e^en  his  lips, 
still  stiff  and  twisted  to  what  he  thought  was 
a  belittling  smile,  were  white.  He  looked  at 
the  detective  as  a  man  might  gaze  at  an  ad- 
vancing terror  which  he  could  neither  resist 
nor  flee.  His  going  to  pieces  was  so  complete, 
so  absolute,  that  it  astonished  Hastings. 

"  And  you,  both  of  you,"  the  old  man  retorted 
to  Wilton's  protest;  "you're  treating  me  as  if 
I, were  a  meddlesome  outsider  intent  on  'fram- 
ing up '  a  case,  instead  of  the  representative  of 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    117 

the  Sloane  family — at  least,  of  Miss  Lucille 
Sloane!  Why's  that?" 

"  Tell  me  what's  on  that  paper,"  Webster  said 
hoarsely,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  colloquy  of 
the  other  two. 

He  held  up  a  trembling  hand,  but  without 
taking  a  step.  He  still  swayed,  like  a  man 
dangled  on  strings,  against  the  piano. 

"  Yes;  tell  him!  "  urged  Wilton. 

Hastings  handed  Webster  the  envelope  flap. 
Instead  of  looking  at  it,  Webster  let  it  drop 
on  the  piano. 

"  One  of  the  words,"  Hastings  said,  "  is  '  pur- 
suit.' The  other  two  are  uncompleted." 

"  And  it's  her  handwriting,  the  daughter's?  " 
Wilton  said. 

"  Beyond  a  doubt." 

Webster  kept  his  unwinking  eyes  on  the  detec- 
tive, apparently  unable  to  break  the  spell  that 
held  him.  For  a  long  moment,  he  had  said 
nothing.  When  he  did  speak,  it  was  with  mani- 
fest difficulty.  His  words  came  in  a  screaming 
whisper : 

"Then,  I'm  in  desperate  shape!" 

"  Nonsense,  man !  "  Judge  Wilton  protested, 
his  voice  raised,  and,  going  to  his  side,  struck 
him  sharply  between  the  shoulders.  "  Get  your- 
self together,  Berne !  Brace  up !  " 

The  effect  on  the  collapsing  man  was,  in  a  way, 


118  "NO  CLUE!" 

magical.  He  stood  erect  in  response  to  the  blow, 
his  elbows  no  longer  seeking  support  on  the 
piano.  He  got  his  eyes  away  from  Hastings  and 
looked  at  the  judge  as  a  man  coming  out  of  a 
sound  sleep  might  have  done.  For  a  few  sec- 
onds, he  had  one  hand  over  his  mouth,  as  if,  by 
actual  manipulation,  he  would  gain  control  of 
the  muscles  of  his  lips. 

"  I  feel  better,"  he  said  at  last,  dropping  the 
hand  from  before  his  face  and  squaring  his  shoul- 
ders. "  I  don't  know  what  hit  me.  If  I'd — you 
know,"  he  hesitated,  frowning,  "  if  I'd  killed  the 
woman,  I  couldn't  have  acted  the  coward  more 
thoroughly." 

Hastings  went  through  with  what  he  wanted 
to  say: 

"About  that  letter,  Mr.  Webster:  have  you 
any  idea,  can  you  advance  any  theory,  as  to  how 
that  piece  of  the  envelope  got  into  your  room?  " 

Webster  was  passing  his  hand  across  his  hair 
now,  and  breathing  in  a  deep,  gusty  fashion. 

"  Not  the  faintest,"  he  replied,  hoarsely. 

"  That's  all,  then,  gentlemen !  "  Hastings  said, 
so  abruptly  that  both  of  them  started.  "  We 
don't  seem  to  have  gone  very  far  ahead  with  this 
business.  WTe  won't,  until  you — particularly 
you,  Webster — tell  me  what  you  know.  It's  your 
own  affair " 

"  My  dear  sir "  Judge  Wilton  began. 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    119 

"  Let  me  finish !  "  Hastings  spoke  indignantly. 
"  I'm  no  fool ;  I  know  when  I'm  trifled  with. 
Understand  me:  I  don't  say  you  got  that  letter, 
Mr.  Webster ;  I  don't  say  you  ever  saw  it ;  I  don't 
know  the  truth  of  it — yet.  I  do  say  you've  de- 
liberately refused  to  respond  to  my  requests  for 
cooperation.  I  do  say  you'd  prefer  to  have  me 
out  of  this  case  altogether.  I  know  it,  although 
I'm  not  clear  as  to  your  motives— or  yours, 
judge.  You  were  anxious  enough,  you  said  when 
we  talked  at  Sloane's  door,  for  me  to  go  on 
with  it.  If  you're  still  of  that  opinion,  I  advise 
you  to  advise  your  friend  here  to  be  more  out- 
spoken with  me.  I'll  give  you  this  straight: 
if  I  can't  be  corn,  I  won't  be  shucks.  But  I 
intend  to  be  corn.  I'm  going  to  conduct  this 
investigation  as  I  see  fit.  I  won't  be  turned 
aside ;  I  won't  play  second  to  your  lead ! " 

He  was  fine  in  his  intensity.  Astounded  by 
his  vehemence,  the  two  men  he  addressed  were 
silent,  meeting  his  keen  and  steady  scrutiny. 

He  smiled,  and,  as  he  did  so,  they  were  aware, 
with  an  emotion  like  shock,  that  his  whole  face 
mirrored  forth  a  genuine  and  warm  self-satisfac- 
tion. The  thing  was  as  plain  as  if  he  had  spoken 
it  aloud :  he  had  gotten  out  of  the  interview  what 
he  wanted.  Their  recognition  of  this  fact  in- 
creased their  blankness. 

"  You  know  my  position  now,"  he  added,  no 


120  "NO  CLUE!" 

longer  denunciatory.  "  If  you  change  your 
minds,  that  will  be  great!  I  want  all  the  help 
I  can  get.  And,  take  it  from  me,  young  man, 
you  can't  afford  to  throw  away  any  you  can 
get." 

«  Threats?  " 

Webster  had  shot  out  the  one  word  with  cool 
insolence  before  the  judge  could  begin  a  concil- 
iatory remark.  The  change  in  the  lawyer's  man- 
ner was  so  unpleasant,  the  insult  so  palpably 
deliberate,  that  Hastings  could  not  mistake  the 
purpose  back  of  it.  Webster  regarded  him  out 
of  burning  eyes. 

"  No ;  not  threats,"  Hastings  answered  him  in 
a  voice  that  was  cold  as  ice.  "  I  think  you  un- 
derstand what  I  mean.  I  know  too  little,  and 
I  suspect  too  much,  to  drop  my  search  for  the 
murderer  of  that  woman." 

Judge  Wilton  tried  to  placate  him : 

"  I  don't  see  what  your  complaint  is,  Hast- 
ings. We " 

A  smothered,  half -articulate  cry  from  Webster 
interrupted  him.  Hastings,  first  to  spring  for- 
ward, caught  the  falling  man  by  his  arm,  break- 
ing the  force  of  the  fall.  He  had  clutched  the 
edge  of  the  piano  as  his  legs  gave  under  him. 
That,  and  the  quickness  of  the  detective,  made 
the  fall  more  like  a  gentle  sliding  to  the  floor. 

Save  for  the  one,  gurgling  outcry,  no  word 


THE  BREAKING  DOWN  OF  WEBSTER    121 

came  from  him.  He  was  unconscious,  his  colour- 
less lips  again  twisted  to  that  poor  semblance 
of  smiling  defiance  which  Hastings  had  noticed 
at  the  beginning  of  the  interview. 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE 

DR.  GARNET,  reaching  Sloanehurst  half 
an  hour  later,  found  Webster  in  complete 
collapse.  He  declared  that  for  at  least 
several  days  the  sick  man  must  be  kept  quiet. 
He  could  not  be  moved  to  his  apartment  in  Wash- 
ington, nor  could  he  be  subjected  to  questioning 
about  anything. 

"That  is,"  he  explained,  "for  three  or  four 
days — possibly  longer.  He's  critically  ill.  But 
for  my  knowledge  of  the  terrific  shock  he's  sus- 
tained as  a  result  of  the  murder,  I'd  be  inclined 
to  say  he'd  broken  down  after  a  long,  steady 
nervous  strain. 

"  I'll  have  a  nurse  out  to  look  after  him. 
Miss  Sloane  has  volunteered,  but  she  has  troubles 
of  her  own." 

Judge  Wilton  took  the  news  to  Hastings,  who 
was  on  the  front  porch,  whittling,  waiting  to 
see  Lucille  before  returning  to  Washington. 

"  I  think  Garnet's  right,"  Wilton  added.  "  I 
thought,  even  before  last  night,  Berne  acted  as 
if  he'd  been  worn  out.  And  you  handled  him 
122 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE  123 

rather  roughly.  That  sort  of  questioning,  tan- 
talizing, keeping  a  man  on  tenterhooks,  knocks 
the  metal  out  of  a  high-strung  temperament  like 
his.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  it  had  me  pretty 
well  worked  up." 

"  I'm  sorry  it  knocked  him  out,"  Hastings 
said.  "  All  I  wanted  was  the  facts.  He  wasn't 
frank  with  me." 

"  I  came  out  here  to  talk  about  that,"  Wilton 
retorted,  brusquely.  "  You're  all  wrong  there, 
Hastings!  The  boy's  broken  all  to  pieces.  He 
sees  clearly,  too  clearly,  the  weight  of  suspicion 
against  him.  You've  mistaken  his  panic  for 
hostility  toward  yourself." 

The  old  man  was  unconvinced,  and  showed  it. 

"  Suspicion  doesn't  usually  knock  a  man  into 
a  cocked  hat — unless  there's  something  to  base 
it  on,"  he  contended. 

"All  right;  I  give  up,"  Wilton  said,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  All  I  know  is,  he  came  to  me  be- 
fore we  saw  you  in  the  music  room,  and  told 
me  he  wanted  me  to  be  there,  to  see  that  he 
omitted  not  even  a  detail  of  what  he  knew." 

Hastings,  looking  up  from  the  intricate  pat- 
tern he  was  carving,  challenged  the  judge : 

"  Has  it  occurred  to  you  that,  if  he's  not  guilty, 
he  might  suspect  somebody  else  in  this  house, 
might  be  trying  to  shield  that  person?  " 

In   the  inconsiderable  pause  that   followed, 


124  "NO  CLUE!" 

Wilton's  lips,  parting  for  an  incredulous  smile, 
showed  the  top  of  his  tongue  against  his  teeth, 
as  if  set  for  pronunciation  of  the  letter  "  S." 
Hastings,  in  a  mental  flash,  saw  him  on  the 
point  of  exclaiming :  "  Sloane !  "  But,  if  that 
was  in  his  mind,  he  put  it  down,  elaborating  the 
smile  to  a  laughing  protest : 

"  That's  going  far  afield,  isn't  it?  " 

Hastings  smiled  in  return :  "  Maybe  so,  but  it's 
a  possibility — and  possibilities  have  to  be  dealt 
with." 

"  Which  reminds  me,"  the  judge  said,  now  all 
amiability ;  "  don't  forget  I'm  always  at  your 
service  in  this  affair.  I  see  now  that  you  might 
have  preferred  to  question  Webster  alone,  in 
the  music  room ;  but  my  confidence  in  his  inno- 
cence blinded  me  to  the  fact  that  you  could 
regard  him  as  actually  guilty.  I  expected  noth- 
ing but  a  friendly  conference,  not  a  fierce  cross- 
examination." 

"  It  didn't  matter  at  all,"  Hastings  matched 
Wilton's  cordial  tone;  "and  I  appreciate  your 
offer,  judge.  Suppose  you  tell  me  anything  that 
occurs  to  you,  anything  that  will  throw  light  on 
this  case  any  time;  and  I'll  act  as  go-between 
for  you  with  the  authorities — if  necessary." 

"You  mean ?" 

"  I'd  like  to  do  the  talking  for  this  family  and 
its  friends.  I  can  work  better  if  I  can  handle 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE   125 

things  myself.  The  half  of  my  job  is  to  save 
the  Sloanes  from  as  many  wild  rumours  as  I 
can." 

Wilton  nodded  approval. 

"  How  about  Arthur?  You  want  me  to  take 
any  questions  to  him  for  you?  " 

"No;  thanks.— But,"  Hastings  added,  "you 
might  make  him  see  the  necessity  of  telling  me 
what  he  saw  last  night.  If  he  doesn't  come 
out  with  it,  he'll  make  it  all  the  harder  on  Web- 
ster." 

"  I  don't  think  he  saw  anything." 

"  Didn't  he?  Why'd  he  refuse  to  testify  be- 
fore the  coroner,  then?  " 

Sheriff  Crown's  car  came  whirling  up  the 
driveway;  and  Hastings  spoke  hurriedly: 

"  You  know  he's  not  as  sick  as  he  makes  out. 
He's  got  to  tell  me  what  he  knows,  judge!  He's 
holding  back  something.  That's  why  he  wants 
to  make  me  so  mad  I'll  quit  the  case.  Who's 
he  shielding?  That's  what  people  will  want  to 
know." 

Wilton  pondered  that. 

"  I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  he  finally  agreed. 
"  According  to  you,  it  may  appear — people  may 
suspect — that  Webster's  guilty  or  shielding 
somebody  else;  and  Arthur's  guilty  or  shield- 
ing Webster!" 

When    Mr.    Crown   reached   the   porch,   they 


126  "NO  CLUE!" 

were  discussing  Webster's  condition,  and  Hast- 
ings, with  the  aid  of  the  judge's  penknife,  was 
tightening  a  screw  in  his  big  barlowesque  blade. 
They  were  careful  to  say  nothing  that  might 
arouse  the  sheriff's  suspicion  of  their  compact 
— an  agreement  whereby  a  private  detective, 
and  not  the  law's  representative,  was  to  have 
the  benefit  of  all  the  judge's  information  bear- 
ing on  the  murder. 

Mr.  Crown,  however,  was  dissatisfied. 

"  I'm  tied  up !  "  he  complained,  nursing  with 
forefinger  and  thumb  his  knuckle-like  chin. 
"  The  only  place  I  can  get  information  is  at  the 
wrong  end — Russell !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  me?  "  the  detective 
asked  amiably.  "  I'll  be  glad  to  help — if  you 
think  I  can." 

"What  good's  that  to  me?"  He  wore  his 
best  politician's  smile,  but  there  was  resentment 
in  his  voice.  "  Your  job  is  keeping  things  quiet 
— for  Sloanehurst.  Mr.  Sloane's  ill,  too  ill  to 
see  me  without  endangering  his  life,  so  his 
funeral-faced  valet  tells  me.  Miss  Lucille  says, 
politely  enough,  she's  told  all  she  knows,  told 
it  on  the  stand,  and  I'm  to  go  to  you  if  I  want 
anything  more  from  her.  The  judge  here  knows 
nothing  about  the  inside  relationships  of  the 
family  and  Webstei,  or  of  Webster  and  the 
Brace  girl.  And  Webster's  down  and  out,  thor- 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE   127 

oughly  and  conveniently !  If  all  that  don't  catch 
your  uncle  Robert  where  the  hair's  short,  I'll 
quit!" 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?"  Hastings 
countered.  "  You've  had  access  to  everything, 
far  as  I  can  see." 

Reply  to  that  was  delayed  by  the  appearance 
of  Jarvis,  summoning  the  judge  to  Arthur 
Sloane's  room. 

"  I  want  to  get  at  Webster,"  Crown  told  Hast- 
ings. "  And  here's  why :  if  Russell  didn't  kill 
her,  Webster  did." 

"  Why,  you've  weakened!  "  the  old  man  guyedv 
head  bent  over  his  whittling.  "  You  had  Rus- 
sell's goose  cooked  this  morning — roasted  to  a 
rich,  dark  brown !  " 

"  Yes ;  and  if  I  could  break  down  his  alibi, 
I'd  still  have  him  cooked!" 

"You  accept  the  alibi,  then?" 

"  Sure,  I  accept  it." 

"I  don't." 

"Why  don't  you?"  objected  Crown.  "He 
didn't  have  an  aeroplane  in  his  hip  pocket,  did 
he?  That's  the  only  way  he  could  have  cov- 
ered those  four  miles  in  fifteen  minutes. — Or 
does  his  alibi  have  to  fall  in  order  to  save  Miss 
Sloane's  fiance'?  " 

He  slapped  his  ^thigh  and  thrust  out  his 
bristly  moustache.  "  You're  paid  to  fasten  the 


128  "NO  CLUE!" 

thing  on  Russell,"  he  said,  clearly  pugnacious. 
"  I  don't  expect  you  to  help  me  work  against 
Webster!  I'm  not  that  simple!" 

The  old  man,  with  a  gesture  no  more  arrest- 
ing than  to  point  at  the  sheriff  with  the  piece 
of  wood  in  his  left  hand,  made  the  official  jaw 
drop  almost  to  the  official  chest. 

"  Mr.  Crown,"  he  said,  "  get  this,  once  and 
for  all :  a  man  ain't  necessarily  a  crook  because 
he's  once  worked  for  the  government.  I'm  as 
anxious  to  find  the  guilty  man  now,  every  time, 
as  when  I  was  in  the  Department  of  Justice. 
And  I  intend  to.  From  now  on,  you'll  give  me 
credit  for  that!— Won't  you,  Mr.  Sheriff?" 

Crown  apologized.  "  I'm  worried ;  that's 
what.  I'm  up  a  gum  stump  and  can't  get  dowTn." 

"  All  right,  but  don't  try  to  make  a  lad- 
der out  of  me!  Why  don't  you  look  into  that 
alibi?  " 

Crown  was  irritated  again.  "What  do  you 
stick  to  that  for?  " 

"  Because,"  Hastings  declared,  "  I'm  ready  to 
8wear-and-cross-my-heart  he  lied  when  he  said 
he  ran  that  four  miles.  I'm  ready  to  swear  he 
was  here  when  the  murder  was  done.  When 
a  man's  got  as  good  an  alibi  as  he  said  he  had, 
his  adam's-apple  don't  play  '  Yankee  Doodle ' 
on  his  windpipe." 

"Is  that  so!" 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE  129 

"  It  is — and  here's  another  thing :  when's  Mrs. 
Brace  going  to  break  loose?  " 

"  Now,  you're  talking ! "  agreed  Crown,  with 
momentary  enthusiasm.  "  She  told  me  this 
morning  she'd  help  me  show  up  Webster — she 
wouldn't  have  it  that  Russell  killed  the  girl. 
Foxy  business !  Mixed  up  in  it  herself,  she  runs 
to  the  rescue  of  the  man  she " 

The  sheriff  paused,  unable  to  bring  that  rea- 
soning to  its  logical  conclusion. 

"No,"  he  said,  dejected;  "  I  can't  believe  she 
put  him  up  to  murdering  her  daughter." 

"  That  woman,"  Hastings  said,  "  is  capable 
of  anything — anything!  We're  going  to  find 
she's  terrible,  I  tell  you,  Crown.  She's  mixed 
up  in  the  murder  somehow — and,  if  you  don't 
find  out  how,  I  will ! " 

"  How  can  we  get  her? "  Crown  argued. 
"  She  was  in  her  flat  when  the  killing  was 
done.  We've  searched  these  grounds,  and  found 
nothing  to  incriminate  anybody.  All  we've  got 
is  a  strong  suspicion  against  two  men.  She's 
out  and  away." 

"  Not  if  we  watch  her.  She's  promised  to 
make  trouble — she'll  be  lucky  if  she  makes  none 
for  herself.  Let's  keep  after  her." 

"I'm  on!  But,"  the  sheriff  reminded,  again 
half-hearted,  "  that  won't  get  us  anything  soon. 
She  won't  leave  her  flat  before  the  funeral." 


130  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  That  won't  keep  her  quiet  very  long,"  Hast- 
ings contended.  "  She  told  me  the  funeral 
would  be  at  nine  o'clock  tomorrow  morning — 
from  an  undertaker's. — Anyway,  I've  instructed 
one  of  my  assistants  to  keep  track  of  her.  I'm 
not  counting  on  her  grief  absorbing  her,  even 
for  today." 

But  he  saw  that  Crown  was  not  greatly  im- 
pressed with  the  possibility  of  finding  the  mur- 
derer through  Mrs.  Brace.  The  sheriff  was  en- 
grossed in  mental  precautions  against  being  mis- 
led by  "  the  Sloanehurst  detective." 

He  was  still  in  that  mood  when  Miss  Sloane 
sent  for  Hastings. 

The  detective  found  her  in  the  music  room. 
She  had  taken  the  chair  which  Judge  Wilton 
had  occupied  an  hour  before,  and  was  leaning 
one  elbow  on  an  arm  of  it,  her  chin  resting 
in  the  cup  of  her  hand.  Her  dress — a  filmy 
lavender  so  light  that  it  shaded  almost  to  pink, 
and  magically  made  to  bring  out  the  grace  of 
her  figure — drew  his  attention  to  the  slight  sag 
of  her  shoulders,  suggestive  of  great  weariness. 

But  he  was  captivated  anew  by  her  grave 
loveliness,  and  by  her  fortitude.  She  betrayed 
her  agitation  only  in  the  fine  tremour  in  her 
hands  and  a  certain  slowness  in  her  words. 

On  the  porch,  talking  to  Judge  Wilton,  he 
had  wondered,  in  a  moment  of  irritation,  why 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE  131 

he  continued  on  the  case  against  so  much  ap- 
parent opposition  in  the  very  household  which 
he  sought  to  help.  He  knew  now  that  neither 
his  sense  of  duty  nor  his  fee  was  the  deciding 
influence.  He  stayed  because  this  girl  needed 
him,  because  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes  last  night 
the  haggard  look  of  an  unspeakable  suspicion. 
"  You  wanted  to  see  me — is  there  anything 
special?  "  she  asked  him,  immediately  alert. 

"  Yes ;  there  is,  Miss  Sloane,"  he  said,  careful 
to  put  into  his  voice  all  the  sympathy  he  felt 
for  her. 

"  Yes?  "  She  was  looking  at  him  with  steady 
eyes. 

"  It's  this,  and  I  want  you  to  bear  in  mind 
that  I  wouldn't  bring  it  up  but  for  my  desire 
to  put  an  end  to  your  uncertainty:  I'm  afraid 
you  haven't  told  me  everything  you  know,  every- 
thing you  saw  last  night  in " 

When  she  would  have  spoken,  he  put  up  a 
warning  hand. 

"  Let  me  explain,  please.  Don't  commit  your- 
self until  you  see  what  I  mean.  Judge  Wilton 
and  Mr.  Webster  seem  to  think  I'm  not  needed 
here.  It  may  be  a  natural  attitude — for  them. 
They're  both  lawyers,  and  to  lawyers  a  mere 
detective  doesn't  amount  to  much." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  it  isn't  that,"  she  flashed  out, 
apologizing. 


132  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind,  personally,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile  for  which  she  felt  grateful.  "  As  I  say, 
it's  natural  for  them  to  think  that  way,  perhaps. 
Your  father,  however,  is  not  a  lawyer;  and, 
when  I  went  into  his  room  at  your  request,  he 
took  pains  to  offend  me,  insult  me,  several 
times."  That  brought  a  faint  flush  to  her  face. 
"  So,  that  leaves  only  you  to  give  me  facts 
which  I  must  have — if  they  exist." 

He  became  more  urgent. 

"And  you  employed  me,  Miss  Sloane;  you 
appealed  to  me  when  you  were  at  a  loss  where 
to  turn.  I'm  only  fair  to  myself  as  well  as 
to  you  when  I  tell  you  that  your  distress,  far 
more  than  financial  considerations,  persuaded 
me  to  undertake  this  work  without  first  consult- 
ing your  father." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  bending  from  the 
waist,  her  eyes  slightly  widened,  so  that  their 
effect  was  to  give  her  a  startled  air. 

"  You  don't  mean  you'll  give  it  up ! "  she 
said,  plainly  entreating.  "You  won't  give  it 
up!" 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  don't  want  me  to 
give  it  up?  Judge  Wilton  has  asked  me  twice, 
out  of  politeness,  not  to  give  it  up.  Are  you 
merely  being  polite?  " 

She  smiled,  looking  tired,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Hastings,  if  you  were  to  desert 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE   133 

us  now,  I  should  be  desperate — altogether.  Des- 
perate! Just  that." 

"  I  can't  desert  you,"  he  said  gently.  "As  I 
told  Mr.  Webster,  I  know  too  little  and  I  sus- 
pect too  much  to  do  that." 

Before  she  spoke  again,  she  looked  at  him 
intently,  drawing  in  her  under  lip  a  little 
against  her  teeth. 

"  What,  Mr.  Hastings? "  she  asked,  then. 
"  What  do  you  suspect?  " 

"  Let  me  answer  that  with  a  question,"  he 
suggested.  "  Last  night,  your  one  idea  was  that 
I  could  protect  you  and  your  father,  everybody 
in  the  house  here,  by  acting  as  your  spokes- 
man. I  think  you  wanted  to  set  me  up  as 
a  buffer  between  all  of  you  on  the  one  side 
and  the  authorities  and  the  reporters  on  the 
other.  You  wanted  things  kept  down,  nothing 
to  get  out  beyond  that  which  was  unavoidable. 
Wasn't  that  it?" 

"  Yes ;  it  was,"  she  admitted,  not  seeing  where 
his  question  led. 

"  You  were  afraid,  then,  that  something  in- 
criminating might  be  divulged,  weren't  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  denied  instantly. 

"  I  mean  something  which  might  seem  incrim- 
inating. You  trusted  the  person  whom  it  would 
seem  to  incriminate;  and  you  wanted  time  for 
the  murderer  to  be  found  without,  in  the  mean- 


134  "NO  CLUE!" 

time,  having  the  adverse  circumstance  made 
public.  Isn't  that  it,  Miss  Sloane?  " 

"  Yes — practically." 

"  Let's  be  clear  on  that.  Your  fear  was  that 
too  much  questioning  of  you  or  the  other  per- 
son might  result  in  a  slip-up — might  make  you 
or  him  mention  the  apparently  damaging 
incident,  with  disastrous  effect.  Wasn't  that 
it?" 

"Yes;  that  was  it." 

"  Now,  what  was  that  apparently  incrimi- 
nating incident?  " 

She  started.  He  had  brought  her  so  directly 
to  the  confession  that  she  saw  now  the  impos- 
sibility of  withholding  what  he  sought. 

"  It  may  be,"  he  tried  to  lighten  her  respon- 
sibility, "  the  very  thing  that  Webster  and  the 
judge  have  concealed — for  I'm  sure  they're  keep- 
ing something  back.  Perhaps,  if  I  knew  it, 
things  would  be  easier.  People  closely  affected 
by  a  crime  are  the  last  to  judge  such  things 
accurately." 

She  gave  a  long  breath  of  relief,  looking  at 
him  with  perplexity  nevertheless. 

"  Yes — I  know.  That  was  why  I  came  to  you 
— last  night — in  the  beginning." 

"And  it  was  about  them,  Webster  and  Wil- 
ton," he  drew  the  conclusion  for  her,  still  en- 
couraging her  with  his  smile,  regarding  her 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE   135 

over  the  rims  of  his  spectacles  with  a  fatherly 
kindness. 

She  turned  from  him  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  It  was  the  middle  of  a  hot,  still  day, 
no  breeze  stirring,  and  wonderfully  quiet.  For 
the  moment,  there  was  no  sound,  in  the  house 
or  outside. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  her  voice  a  revelation  of 
the  extent  to  which  her  doubts  had  oppressed 
her.  "It  was  like  that,  out  there — quiet,  still ! 
If  you  could  only  understand !  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  rely  on  me.  The 
sheriff  is  bound  to  assert  himself,  to  keep  in 
the  front  of  things;  he's  that  kind  of  a  man. 
He'll  make  an  arrest  any  time,  or  announce  that 
he  will.  Don't  you  see  the  danger?  "  He  leaned 
forward  and  took  her  hand,  a  move  to  which 
she  seemed  oblivious.  "  Don't  you  see  I 
must  have  facts  to  go  on — if  I'm  to  help 
you?  " 

At  that,  she  disengaged  her  hand,  and  sat 
very  straight,  her  face  again  a  little  turned 
from  him.  A  twitch,  like  a  shudder  cut  short, 
moved  her  whole  body,  so  that  the  heel  of  her 
slipper  rapped  smartly  on  the  floor. 

"  I  wish,"  she  whispered  dully,  "  I  wish  I 
knew  what  to  do !  " 

"  Tell  me,"  he  urged,  as  if  he  spoke  to  a 
child. 


136  "NO  CLUE!" 

She  showed  him  her  face,  very  white,  with 
sudden  shadows  under  the  eyes. 

"  I  must,  I  think ;  I  must  tell  you,"  she  said, 
not  much  louder  than  the  previous  whisper. 
"  You  were  right.  I  didn't  tell  the  whole  story 
of  what  I  saw.  Believe  me,  I  didn't  think  it 
mattered.  I  thought,  really,  things  would  right 
themselves  and  explanations  be  unnecessary. 
But  you  knew — didn't  you?  " 

"  Yes.  I  knew."  He  realized  her  ordeal, 
helping  her  through  it.  "  What  were  they  do- 
ing? " 

She  held  her  chin  high. 

"  It  was  all  true,  what  I  told  you  in  the 
library,  my  being  waked  up  by  father's  moving 
about,  my  going  to  the  window,  my  seeing  Berne 
and  the  judge  facing  each  other  across — her — 
there  at  the  end  of  the  awful  yellow  arm  of 
light.  But  that  wasn't  all.  The  moment  the 
light  flashed  on,  the  judge  threw  back  his  head 
a  little,  like  a  man  about  to  cry  out,  shout  for 
help.  I  am  sure  that  was  it. 

"  But  Berne  was  too  quick  for  that.  Berne 
put  out  his  hand;  his  arm  shot  across  her;  and 
his  hand  closed  the  judge's  mouth.  The  judge 
made  no  noise  whatever,  but  he  shook  his  head 
from  side  to  side  two  or  three  times — I'm  not 
certain  how  many — while  Berne  leant  over  the 
body  and  whispered  to  him.  It  seemed  to 


THE  WHISPERED  CONFERENCE  137 

me  I  could  almost  hear  the  words,  but  I 
didn't. 

"  Then  Berne  took  his  hand  from  the  judge's 
mouth.  I  think,  before  that,  the  judge  made  a 
sign,  tried  to  nod  his  head  up  and  down,  to 
show  he  would  do  as  Berne  said.  Then,  when 
they  saw  she  was  dead,  they  both  hurried  around 
the  corner  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  I  heard 
them  come  in;  I  heard  the  judge  call  to  father 
and  run  up  to  your  room." 

She  was  alarmed  then  by  the  amazement  and 
disapproval  in  his  face. 

"  Oh ! "  she  said,  and  this  time  she  took  his 
hand.  "  You  see !  You  see !  You  don't  under- 
stand! You  think  Berne  killed  her!  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  wondering.  "  I  must 
think."  For  the  moment,  indignation  swept 
him.  "Wilton!  A  judge,  a  judge! — keeping 
quiet  on  a  thing  like  that!  I  must  think." 


XI 

MOTIVES    REVEALED 

SHE  let  go  his  hand  and,  still  leaning  toward 
him,  waited  for  him  to  speak.  A  confusion 
of  misgivings  assailed  her — she  regretted 
having  confided  in  him.  If  his  anger  embraced 
Berne  as  well  as  Judge  Wilton,  she  had  done 
nothing  but  harm ! 

Seeing  her  dismay,  he  tried  again  to  reassure 
her. 

"  But  no  matter !  "  he  minimized  his  own  sense 
of  shock.  "  I'm  sure  I'll  understand  if  you'll  tell 
me  more — your  explanation." 

Obviously,  the  only  inference  he  could  draw 
from  her  story  as  she  had  told  it  was  that 
Webster  had  killed  the  woman  and,  found  bend- 
ing over  her  body,  had  sprung  forward  to  silence 
the  man  who  had  discovered  him.  Nevertheless, 
it  was  equally  evident  that  she  was  sincere  in 
attributing  to  Webster  a  different  motive  for 
preventing  the  judge's  outcry.  Consideration 
of  that  persuaded  Hastings  that  she  could  give 
him  facts  which  would  change  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  crime. 

138 


MOTIVES  REVEALED  139 

Her  hesitance  now  made  him  uneasy ;  he  rec- 
ognized the  necessity  of  increasing  her  reliance 
upon  him.  If  she  told  him  only  a  part  of  what 
she  knew,  he  would  be  scarcely  in  a  better  posi- 
tion than  before. 

"  Naturally,"  he  added,  "  you  can  throw  light 
on  the  whole  incident — light  by  which  I  must 
be  guided,  to  a  great  degree." 

"  If  Berne  were  not  ill,"  she  responded  to 
that,  "  I  wouldn't  tell. — It's  because  he's  lying 
up  there,  his  lips  closed,  unable  to  keep  a  look- 
out for  developments,  at  the  mercy  of  what  the 
sheriff  may  do  or  say! — That's  why  I  feel  so 
dreadfully  the  need  of  help,  Mr.  Hastings ! " 

She  slid  back  in  her  chair,  moving  farther 
from  him,  as  if  his  kindly  gaze  disconcerted 
her. 

"  If  he  hadn't  suffered  this  collapse,  I  should 
have  left  the  matter  to  him,  I  think.  But  now 
— now  I  can't !  "  She  straightened  again,  her 
chin  up,  the  signal  with  her  of  final  decision. 
"  He  acted  on  his  impulsive  desire  to  prevent 
my  being  shocked  by  that  discovery — that  hor- 
ror out  there  on  the  lawn.  Things  had  hap- 
pened to  convince  him  that  such  a  thing,  shouted 
through  the  night,  would  be  a  terrific  blow  to 
me.  I'm  sure  that  that  was  the  only  idea  he 
had  when  he  put  his  hand  over  Judge  Wilton's 
mouth." 


140  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  I  can  believe  that,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me  why 
you  believe  it." 

"  Oh !  "  she  protested,  hands  clenched  on  her 
knees;  "if  it  affected  only  him  and  me!" 

Her  suspicion  of  her  father  recurred  to  him. 
It  was,  he  thought,  back  of  the  terror  he  saw 
in  her  eyes  now. 

"  But  it  does  affect  only  him  and  me,  after 
all ! "  she  continued  fiercely,  as  much  to 
strengthen  herself  in  what  she  wanted  to  believe 
as  to  force  him  to  that  belief.  "  Let  me  tell 
you  the  whole  affair,  from  beginning  to  end." 

She  proceeded  in  a  low  tone,  the  words  slower, 
as  if  she  laboured  for  precision  and  clarity. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  Friday — the  night  before 
last — it  seems  months  ago!  I  had  heard  that 
Berne  had  become  involved  in  some  sort  of 
relationship  with  his  stenographer — that  she  had 
been  dismissed  from  his  office  and  refused  to 
accept  the  dismissal  as  final.  I  mean,  of  course, 
I  heard  she  was  in  love  with  him,  and  he'd  been 
in  love  with  her— or  should  have  been. 

"  It  was  told  me  by  a  friend  of  mine  in  Wash- 
ington, Lucy  Carnly.  It  seems  another  stenog- 
rapher overheard  the  conversation  between 
Berne  and  Miss — Miss  Brace.  It  got  out  that 
way.  It  was  very  circumstantial;  I  couldn't 
help  believing  it,  some  of  it ;  Lucy  wouldn't  have 
brought  me  idle  gossip — I  thought." 


MOTIVES  REVEALED  141 

She  drew  in  her  under  lip,  to  hide  its  momen- 
tary tremour,  and  shook  her  head  from  side  to 
side  once. 

"  All  that,  Mr.  Hastings,  came  up,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  when  Berne  reached  here  evening 
before  last  for  the  week-end.  I'd  just  heard 
it  that  day.  He  denied  it,  said  there  had  been 
nothing  remotely  resembling  a  love  affair. — He 
was  indignant,  and  very  hurt! — He  said  she'd 
misconstrued  some  of  his  kindnesses  to  her.  He 
couldn't  explain  how  she  had  misconstrued 
them.  At  any  rate,  the  result  was  that  I  broke 
our  engagement.  I " 

"  Friday  night !  "  Hastings  exclaimed  invol- 
untarily. 

He  grasped  on  the  instant  how  grossly  Web- 
ster, by  withholding  all  this,  had  deceived  him, 
left  him  in  the  dark. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  told  father  about  it,"  she  hurried 
her  words  here,  the  effect  of  her  manner  being 
the  impression  that  she  hoped  this  fact  would 
not  bulk  too  large  in  the  detective's  thoughts. 
"  The  three  of  us  had  a  talk  about  it  Friday 
night.  Father's  wonderfully  fond  of  Berne  and 
tried  to  persuade  me  I  was  foolishly  ruining 
my  life.  I  refused  to  change  my  mind.  When 
I  went  upstairs,  they  stayed  a  long  time  in  the 
library,  talking. 

"  I  think  they  decided  the  best  thing  for  Berne 


142  "NO  CLUE!" 

was  to  stay  on  here,  through  yesterday  and  to- 
fday,  in  the  hope  that  he  and  father  might 
change  my  mind.  Father  tried  to,  yesterday 
morning.  He  was  awfully  upset.  That's  one 
reason  he's  so  worn  out  and  sick  today. — I  love 
my  father  so,  Mr.  Hastings!  "  She  held  her  lips 
tight-shut  a  moment,  a  sob  struggling  in  her 
throat.  "  But  my  distress,  my  own  hurt 
pride— 

"What  did  your  father  say  about  Mildred 
Brace?  "  Hastings  asked,  when  she  did  not  finish 
that  sentence. 

She  looked  at  him,  again  with  widened  eyes, 
a  startled  air,  putting  both  her  hands  to  her 
throat. 

"  There !  "  she  said,  voice  falling  to  a  whisper. 

Then,  turning  her  face  half  from  him,  she 
whispered  so  low  that  he  heard  her  with  diffi- 
culty :  "  I  wish  I  were  dead !  " 

Her  words  frightened  him,  they  had  so  clearly 
the  ring  of  truth,  as  if  she  would  in  sober  fact 
have  preferred  death  to  the  thought  which 
was  breaking  her  heart — suspicion  of  her 
father. 

"  That  was  why  Berne  stopped  the  judge's  out- 
cry," she  said  at  last,  turning  her  white  face 
to  him ;  "  he  had  the  sudden  wild  idea  that  I'm 
afraid  you  have — that  father  might  have  killed 
her.  And  Berne  did  not  want  that  awful  fact 


MOTIVES  EEVEALED  143 

screamed  through  the  night  at  me.  Oh,  can't 
you  see — can't  you  see  that,  Mr.  Hastings?  " 

"  It's  entirely  possible ;  Mr.  Webster  may 
have  thought  that. — But  let's  keep  the  story 
straight.  What  had  your  father  said  about 
Mildred  Brace — to  arouse  any  such  suspicion?  " 

"  He  was  angry,  terribly  indignant.  You 
know  I  made  no  secret  to  you  of  his  high  tem- 
per. His  rages  are  fierce. — Once,  when  he  was 
that  way,  I  saw  him  kill  a  dog.  If  it  had — but 
I  think  all  men  who're  unstrung  nervously,  as 
he  is,  have  high  tempers.  He  felt  so  indignant 
because  she  had  come  between  Berne  and  my- 
self. He  blamed  neither  Berne  nor  me.  He 
seemed  to  concentrate  all  his  anger  upon  her. 

"  He  said — you  see,  Mr.  Hastings,  I  tell  you 

everything ! — he  threatened  to  go  to  her  and 

He  had,  of  course,  no  definite  idea  what  he  would 
do.  Finally,  he  did  say  he  would  buy  her  off, 
pay  her  to  leave  this  part  of  the  country.  After 
that,  he  said,  he  knew  I  would  l  see  things 
clearly,'  and  Berne  and  I  would  be  reconciled." 

Hastings  remembered  Russell's  assertion  that 
Mildred  had  her  ticket  to  Chicago. 

"  Did  he  buy  her  off?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Oh,  no ;  he  was  merely  wishing  that  he  could, 
I  think." 

"  But  he  made  no  attempt  to  get  in  touch 
with  her  yesterday?  You're  sure?  " 


144  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Quite,"  she  said.  "  But  don't  you  see.  Mr. 
Hastings?  Father  was  so  intense  in  his  hatred 
of  her  that  Berne  thought  of  him  the  moment 
he  found  that  body — out  there.  He  thought 
father  must  have  encountered  her  on  the  lawn 
in  some  way,  or  she  must  have  come  after  him, 
and  he,  in  a  fit  of  rage,  struck  her  down." 

"  Has  Webster  told  you  this?  " 

"  No— but  it's  true;  it  is!  " 

"But,  if  your  supposition  is  to  hold  good, 
how  did  your  father  happen  to  be  in  possession 
of  that  dagger,  which  evidently  was  made  with 
malice  aforethought,  as  the  lawyers  say?  " 

"  Exactly,"  she  said,  her  lips  quivering,  hands 
gripping  spasmodically  at  her  knees.  "  He 
didn't  do  it!  He  didn't  do  it!  Berne's  idea 
was  a  mistake !  " 

"Who,  then?"  he  pressed  her,  realizing  now 
that  she  was  so  unstrung  she  would  give  him 
her  thoughts  unguarded. 

"  Why,  that  man  Russell,"  she  said,  her  voice 
so  low  and  the  words  so  slow  that  he  thought 
her  at  the  limit  of  her  endurance.  "  But  I've 
said  all  this  to  show  you  why  Berne  put  his 
hand  over  the  judge's  mouth.  I  want  to  make 
it  very  clear  that  he  feared  father — think  of 
it,  Mr.  Hastings !— had  killed  her!  At  first,  I 
thought " 

She  bowed  her  face  in  both  her  hands  and 


MOTIVES  REVEALED  145 

wept  unrestrainedly,  without  sobs,  the  tears 
streaming  between  her  fingers  and  down  her 
wrists. 

The  old  man  put  one  hand  on  her  hair,  and 
with  the  other  brought  forth  his  handkerchief, 
being  bothered  by  the  sudden  mistiness  of  his 
spectacles. 

"A  brave  girl,"  he  said,  his  own  voice  in- 
secure. "  What  a  woman !  I  know  what  you 
mean.  At  first,  you  feared  your  father  might 
have  been  concerned  in  the  murder.  I  saw  it 
in  your  eyes  last  night.  You  had  the  same 
thought  that  young  Webster  had — rather,  that 
you  say  he  had." 

Her  weeping  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  be- 
gun. She  looked  at  him  through  tears. 

"  And  I've  only  injured  Berne  in  your  eyes ; 
I  think,  irreparably!  This  morning  I  thought 
you  heard  me  when  I  asked  him  not  to  let  it  be 
known  that  our  engagement  was  broken?  Don't 
you  remember?  You  were  on  the  porch  as  we 
came  around  the  corner." 

For  the  first  time  since  its  utterance,  he  re- 
called her  statement  then,  "  We'll  have  to  leave 
it  as  it  was,"  and  Webster's  significant  rejoinder. 
He  despised  his  own  stupidity.  Had  he  magni- 
fied Webster's  desire  to  keep  that  promise  into 
guilty  knowledge  of  the  crime  itself?  And  had 
not  the  mistake  driven  him  into  false  and  value- 


146  "NO  CLUE!" 

less  interpretations  of  his  entire  interview  with 
Webster? 

"  fle  promised,"  Lucille  pursued,  "  for  the 
same  reason  I  had  in  asking  it — to  prevent  dis- 
covery of  the  fact  that  father  might  have  had 
a  motive  for  wishing  her  dead!  It  was  a  mis- 
take, I  see  now,  a  terrible  mistake !  " 

"  Can  you  tell  me  why  you  didn't  have  the 
same  thoughts  about  Berne?"  He  was  sorry 
he  had  to  make  that  inquiry.  If  he  could,  he 
would  have  spared  her  further  distress.  "  Why 
wouldn't  he  have  had  the  same  motive,  hatred 
of  Mildred  Brace,  a  thousand  times  stronger?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  I  simply  never 
thought  of  it — not  once." 

Fine  psychologist  that  he  was,  Eastings  knew 
why  that  view  had  not  occurred  to  her.  Her 
love  for  Webster  was  an  idealizing  sentiment, 
putting  him  beyond  even  the  possibility  of 
wrong-doing.  Her  love  for  her  father,  unusual 
in  its  devotion  as  it  was,  recognized  his  weak- 
nesses nevertheless. 

And,  while  seeking  to  protect  the  two,  she 
had  told  a  story  which,  so  far  as  bald  facts 
went,  incriminated  the  lover  far  more  than  the 
father.  She  had  attributed  to  Sloane,  in  her 
uneasiness,  the  motive  which  would  have  been 
most  natural  to  the  discarded  Webster.  Even 
now,  she  could  not  suspect  Berne ;  her  only  fear 


MOTIVES  REVEALED  147 

was  that  others,  not  understanding  him  as  she 
did,  might  suspect  him!  Although  she  had 
broken  with  him,  she  still  loved  him.  More 
than  that:  his  illness  and  consequent  helpless- 
ness increased  her  devotion  for  him,  brought  to 
the  surface  the  maternal  phase  of  it. 

"  If  she  had  to  choose  between  the  two,"  Hast- 
ings thought,  "  she'd  save  Webster — every 
time!" 

"  I  know — I  tell  you,  Mr.  Hastings,  I  know 
neither  Berne  nor  father  is  at  all  responsible 
for  this  crime.  I  tell  you,"  she  repeated,  rising 
to  her  feet,  as  if  by  mere  physical  height  she 
hoped  to  impress  her  knowledge  upon  him,  "  I 
know  they're  innocent. — Don't  you  know  it?  " 

She  stood  looking  down  at  him,  her  whole 
body  tense,  arms  held  close  against  her  sides, 
the  knuckles  of  her  fingers  white  as  ivory.  Her 
eyes  now  were  dry,  and  brilliant. 

He  evaded  the  flat  statement  to  which  she 
pressed  him.  ' 

"  But  your  knowledge,  Miss  Sloane,  and  what 
we  must  prove,"  he  said,  also  standing,  "  are 
two  different  things  just  now.  The  authorities 
will  demand  proofs." 

"  I  know.  That's  why  I've  told  you  these 
things."  Somehow,  her  manner  reproached  him. 
"  You  said  you  had  to  have  them  in  order  to 
handle  this — this  situation  properly.  Now  that 


148  "NO  CLUE!" 

you  know  them,  I'm  sure  you'll  feel  safe  in 
devoting  all  your  time  to  proving  Russell's 
guilt."  She  moved  her  head  forward,  to  study 
him  more  closely.  "  You  know  he's  guilty,  don't 
you?  " 

"  I'm  certain  Mrs.  Brace  figured  in  her  daugh- 
ter's murder,"  he  said.  "  She  was  concerned  in 
it  somehow.  If  that's  true,  and  if  your  father 
approached  neither  her  nor  her  daughter  yes- 
terday, it  does  seem  highly  possible  that  Rus- 
sell's guilty." 

He  turned  from  her  and  stood  at  the  window, 
his  back  to  her  a  few  long  moments.  When  he 
faced  her  again,  he  looked  old. 

"  But  the  facts — if  we  could  only  break  down 
Russell's  alibi !  " 

"  Oh !  "  she  whispered,  in  new  alarm.  "  I'd 
forgotten  that ! " 

All  the  tenseness  went  out  of  her  limbs.  She 
sank  into  her  chair,  and  sat  there,  looking  up 
to  him,  her  eyes  frankly  confessing  a  panic  fear. 

"  I  think  I'm  sorry  I  told  you,"  she  said,  des- 
perately. "  I  can't  make  you  understand !  " 
Another  consideration  forced  itself  upon  her. 
"  You  won't  have  to  tell  anybody — anybody  at 
all — about  this,  will  you — now?  " 

He  was  prepared  for  that. 

"  I'll  have  to  ask  Judge  Wilton  why  he  acted 
on  Mr.  Webster's  advice — and  what  that  advice 


MOTIVES  REVEALED  149 

was,  what  they  whispered  to  each  other  when 
you  saw  them." 

"  Why,  that's  perfectly  fair,"  she  assented, 
relieved.  "  That  will  stop  all  the  secrecy  be- 
tween them  and  me.  It's  the  very  thing  I  want. 
If  that's  assured,  everything  else  will  work  itself 
out." 

Her  faith  surprised  him.  He  had  not  realized 
how  unqualified  it  was. 

"  Did  you  ask  the  judge  about  it? "  he  in- 
quired. 

"Yes;  just  before  I  came  in  here — after 
Berne's  collapse.  I  felt  so  helpless!  But  he 
tried  to  persuade  me  my  imagination  had  de- 
ceived me;  he  said  they  had  had  no  such  scene. 
You  know  how  gruff  and  hard  Judge  Wilton 
can  be  at  times.  I  shouldn't  choose  him  for  a 
confidant." 

"  No ;  I  reckon  not.  But  we'll  ask  him  now 
— if  you  don't  mind." 

Willis,  the  butler,  answered  the  bell,  and  gave 
information :  Judge  Wilton  had  left  Sloanehurst 
half  an  hour  ago  and  had  gone  to  the  Randalls'. 
He  had  asked  for  Miss  Sloane,  but,  learning 
that  she  was  engaged,  had  left  his  regrets,  say- 
ing he  would  come  in  tomorrow,  after  the  ad- 
journment of  court. 

"  He's  on  the  bench  tomorrow  at  the  county- 
seat,"  Lucille  explained  the  message.  "He  al- 


150  "NO  CLUE!" 

ways  divides  his  time  between  us  and  the  Ran- 
dalls when  he  comes  down  from  Fairfax  for  his 
court  terms.  He  told  me  this  morning  he'd 
come  back  to  us  later  in  the  week." 

"On  second  thought,"  Hastings  said,  "that's 
better.  I'll  talk  to  him  alone  tomorrow — about 
this  thing,  this  inexplicable  thing:  a  judge  tak- 
ing it  upon  himself  to  deceive  the  sheriff  even! 
But,"  he  softened  the  sternness  of  his  tone,  "  he 
must  have  a  reason,  a  better  one  than  I  can 
think  of  now."  He  smiled.  "  And  I'll  report 
to  you,  when  he's  told  me.' 

"  I'm  glad  it's  tomorrow,"  she  said  wearily. 
"  I— I'm  tired  out." 

On  his  way  back  to  Washington,  the  old  man 
reflected :  "  Now,  she'll  persuade  Sloane  to  do 
the  sensible  thing — talk."  Then,  to  bolster  that 
hope,  he  added  a  stern  truth :  "  He's  got  to. 
He  can't  gag  himself  with  a  pretended  illness 
forever ! " 

At  the  same  time  the  girl  he  had  left  in  the 
music  room  wept  again,  saying  over  and  over 
to  herself,  in  a  despair  of  doubt :  "  Not  that ! 
Not  that!  I  couldn't  tell  him  that.  I  told  him 
enough.  I  know  I  did.  He  wouldn't  have  un- 
derstood!" 


XII 

HENDRICKS    REPORTS 

IN  his  book-lined,  "  loosely  furnished  "  apart- 
ment Sunday  afternoon  Hastings  whittled 
prodigiously,  staring  frequently  at  the  flap 
of  the  grey  envelope  with  the  intensity  of  a 
crystal-gazer.  Once  or  twice  he  pronounced 
aloud  possible  meanings  of  the  symbols  im- 
printed on  the  scrap  of  paper. 

«< — edly  de — ?»»  he  worried.  "That  might 
stand  for  '  repeatedly  demanded '  or  t  repeatedly 
denied '  or  '  undoubtedly  denoted '  or  a  hun- 
dred   But  that  '  Pursuit ! '  is  the  core  of 

the  trouble.  They  put  the  pursuit  on  him,  sure 
as  you're  knee-high  to  a  hope  of  heaven ! " 

The  belief  grew  in  him  that  out  of  those 
pieces  of  words  would  come  solution  of  his  prob- 
lem. The  idea  was  born  of  his  remarkable  in- 
stinct. Its  positiveness  partook  of  superstition 
— almost.  He  could  not  shake  it  off.  Once  he 
chuckled,  appreciating  the  apparent  absurdity 
of  trying  to  guess  the  criminal  meaning,  the 
criminal  intent,  back  of  that  writing.  But  he 
kept  to  his  conjecturing. 

He  had  many  interruptions.     Newspaper  re- 

151 


152  "NO  CLUE!" 

porters,  instantly  impressed  by  the  dramatic 
possibilities,  the  inherent  sensationalism,  of 
the  murder,  flocked  to  him.  Referred  to  him  by 
the  people  at  Sloanehurst,  they  asked  for  not 
only  his  narration  of  what  had  occurred  but 
also  for  his  opinion  as  to  the  probability  of 
running  down  the  guilty  man. 

He  would  make  no  predictions,  he  told  them, 
confining  himself  to  a  simple  statement  of  facts. 
When  one  young  sleuth  suggested  that  both 
Sloane  and  Webster  feared  arrest  on  the  charge 
of  murder  and  had  relied  on  his  reputation  to 
prevent  prompt  action  against  them  by  the 
sheriff,  the  old  man  laughed.  He  knew  the 
futility  of  trying  to  prevent  publication  of  inti- 
mations of  that  sort. 

But  he  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to 
put  a  different  interpretation  on  his  employment 
by  the  Sloanes. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  he  contributed,  "  it's  more 
logical  to  say  that  their  calling  in  a  detective 
goes  a  long  way  to  show  their  innocence  of  all 
connection  with  the  crime.  They  wouldn't  pay 
out  real  money  to  have  themselves  hunted,  if 
they  were  guilty,  would  they?  " 

Afterwards,  he  was  glad  he  had  emphasized 
this  point.  In  the  light  of  subsequent  events, 
it  looked  like  actual  foresight  of  Mrs.  Brace's 
tactics. 


HENDRICKS  EEPORTS  153 

Soon  after  five  Hendricks  came  in,  to  report. 
He  was  a  young  man,  stockily  built,  with  eyes 
that  were  always  on  the  verge  of  laughter  and 
lips  that  sloped  inward  as  if  biting  down  on 
the  threatened  mirth.  The  shape  of  his  lips  was 
symbolical  of  his  habit  of  discourse;  he  was  of 
few  words. 

"  Webster,"  he  said,  standing  across  the  table 
from  his  employer  and  shooting  out  his  words 
like  a  memorized  speech,  "been  overplaying  his 
hand  financially.  That's  the  rumour;  nothing 
tangible  yet.  Gone  into  real  estate  and  building 
projects;  associated  with  a  crowd  that  has  the 
name  of  operating  on  a  shoestring.  Nobody'd  be 
surprised  if  they  all  blew  up." 

"  As  a  real-estate  man,  I  take  it,"  Hastings 
commented,  slowly  shaving  off  thin  slivers  of 
chips  from  his  piece  of  pine,  "  he's  a  brilliant 
young  lawyer.  That's  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Hendricks  agreed,  the  slope  of 
his  lips  accentuated. 

"Keep  after  that,  tomorrow. — What  about 
Mrs.  Brace?" 

"  Destitute,  practically ;  in  debt ;  threatened 
with  eviction;  no  resources." 

"So  money,  lack  of  it,  is  bothering  her  as 
well  as  Webster! — How  much  is  she  in 
debt?  " 

"  Enough  to  be  denied  all  credit  by  the  stores ; 


154  "NO  CLUE!" 

between  five  and  seven  hundred,  I  should  say. 
That's  about  the  top  mark  for  that  class  of 
trade." 

"  All  right,  Hendricks ;  thanks,"  the  old  man 
commended  warmly.  "  That's  great  work,  for 
Sunday. — Now,  Russell's  room?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  went  over  it." 

"  Find  any  steel  on  the  floor?  " 

Hendricks  took  from  his  pocket  a  little  paper 
parcel  about  the  size  of  a  man's  thumb. 

"  Not  sure,  sir.    Here's  what  I  got." 

He  unfolded  the  paper  and  put  it  down  on  the 
table,  displaying  a  small  mass  of  what  looked 
like  dust  and  lint. 

"  Wonderful  what  a  magnet  will  pick  up,  ain't 
it?"  mused  his  employer:  "I  got  the  same  sort 
of  stuff  at  Sloanehurst  this  morning. — I'll  go 
over  this,  look  for  the  steel  particles,  right 
away." 

"  Anything  else,  sir — special?  " 

The  assistant  was  already  half-way  to  the 
door.  He  knew  that  a  floor  an  inch  deep  in 
chips  from  his  employer's  whittling  indicated 
laborious  mental  gropings  by  the  old  man.  It 
was  no  time  for  superfluous  words. 

"  After  dinner,"  Hastings  instructed,  "  relieve 
Gore — at  the  Walman.  Thanks." 

As  Hendricks  went  out,  there  was  another 
telephone  call,  this  time  from  Crown,  to  make 


HENDRICKS  REPORTS  155 

amends  for  coolness  he  had  shown  Hastings  at 
Sloanehurst. 

"  I  was  wrong,  and  you  were  right,"  he  con- 
ceded, handsomely ;  "  I  mean  about  that  Brace 
woman.  Better  keep  your  man  on  her 
trail." 

"  What's  up?  "  Hastings  asked  amicably. 

"  That's  what  I  want  to  know !  I've  seen  her 
again.  I  couldn't  get  anything  more  from  her 
except  threats.  She's  going  on  the  warpath. 
She  told  me: '  Tomorrow  I'll  look  into  things  for 
myself.  I'll  not  sit  here  idle  and  leave  every- 
thing to  a  sheriff  who  wants  campaign  contribu- 
tions and  a  detective  who's  paid  to  hush  things 
up!'  You  can  see  her  saying  that,  can't  you? 
Wow!" 

"That  all?" 

"That's  all,  right  now.  But  I've  got  a  sus- 
picion she  knows  more  than  we  think.  When 
she  makes  up  her  mind  to  talk,  she'll  say  some- 
thing!— Mr.  Hastings,"  Crown  added,  as  if  he 
imparted  a  tremendous  fact,  "that  woman's 
smart!  I  tell  you,  she's  got  brains,  a  head  full 
of  'em!" 

"So  I  judged,"  the  detective  agreed,  drily. 
"  By  the  way,  have  you  seen  Russell  again?  " 

"Yes.  There's  another  thing.  I  don't  see 
where  you  get  that  stuff  about  his  weak  alibi. 
It's  copper-riveted ! " 


156  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  He  says  so,  you  mean." 

"  Yes ;  and  the  way  he  says  it.  But  I  followed 
your  advice.  I've  advertised,  through  the  police 
here  and  up  and  down  the  Atlantic  coast,  for 
any  automobile  party  or  parties  who  went  along 
that  Sloanehurst  road  last  night  between  ten- 
thirty  and  eleven-thirty." 

"Fine!"  Hastings  congratulated.  "But  get 
me  straight  on  that:  I  don't  say  any  of  them 
saw  him;  I  say  there's  a  chance  that  he  was 
seen." 

The  old  man  went  back,  not  to  examination 
of  Hendricks'  parcel,  but  to  further  considera- 
tion of  the  possible  contents  of  the  letter  that 
had  been  in  the  grey  envelope.  Russell,  he  re- 
flected, had  been  present  when  Mildred  Brace 
mailed  it,  and,  what  was  more  important,  when 
Mildred  started  out  of  the  apartment  with 
it. 

He  made  sudden  decision:  he  would  question 
Russell  again.  Carefully  placing  Hendricks' 
package  of  dust  and  lint  in  a  drawer  of  the 
table,  he  set  out  for  the  Eleventh  street  boarding 
house. 

It  was,  however,  not  Russell  who  figured  most 
prominently  in  the  accounts  of  the  murder  pub- 
lished by  the  Monday  morning  newspapers.  The 
reporters,  resenting  the  reticence  they  had  en- 
countered at  Sloanehurst,  and  making  much  of 


HENDEICKS  EEPORTS  157 

Mrs.  Brace's  threats,  put  in  the  forefront  of 
their  stories  an  appealing  picture  of  a  bereaved 
mother's  one-sided  fight  for  justice  against  the 
baffling  combination  of  the  Sloanehurst  secretive- 
ness  and  indifference  and  the  mysterious  cir- 
cumstances of  the  daughter's  death.  Not  one 
of  them  questioned  the  validity  of  Russell's 
alibi. 

"  With  the  innocence  of  the  dead  girl's  fiance^ 
established,"  said  one  account,  "Sheriff  Crown 
last  night  made  no  secret  of  his  chagrin  that 
Berne  Webster  had  collapsed  at  the  very  mo- 
ment when  the  sheriff  was  on  the  point  of  put- 
ting him  through  a  rigid  cross-examination. 
The  young  lawyer's  retirement  from  the  scene, 
coupled  with  the  Sloane  family's  retaining  the 
celebrated  detective,  Jefferson  Hastings,  as  a 
buffer  against  any  questioning  of  the  Sloane- 
hurst people,  has  given  Society,  here  and  in  Vir- 
ginia, a  topic  for  discussion  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary interest." 

Another  paragraph  that  caught  Hastings'  at- 
tention, as  he  read  between  mouthfuls  of  his 
breakfast,  was  this: 

"  Mrs.  Brace,  discussing  the  tragedy  with  a 
reporter  last  night,  showed  a  surprising  knowl- 
edge of  all  its  incidents.  Although  she  had  not 
left  her  apartment  in  the  Walman  all  day,  she 
had  been  questioned  by  both  Sheriff  Crown  and 


158  "NO  CLUE!" 

Mr.  Hastings,  not  to  mention  the  unusually 
large  number  of  newspaper  writers  who  besieged 
her  for  interviews. 

"  And  it  seemed  that,  in  addition  to  answering 
the  queries  put  to  her  by  the  investigators,  she 
had  accomplished  a  vast  amount  of  keen  inquiry 
on  her  own  account.  When  talking  to  her,  it 
is  impossible  for  one  to  escape  the  impression 
that  this  extraordinarily  intelligent  woman  be- 
lieves she  can  prove  the  guilt  of  the  man  who 
struck  down  her  daughter." 

"  Just  what  I  was  afraid  of,"  thought  the 
detective.  "  Nearly  every  paper  siding  with 
her!" 

His  face  brightened. 

"  All  the  better,"  he  consoled  himself.  "  More 
chance  of  her  overreaching  herself — as  long  as 
she  don't  know  what  I  suspect.  I'll  get  the 
meaning  of  that  grey  letter  yet ! " 

But  he  was  worried.  Berne  Webster's  col- 
lapse, he  knew,  was  too  convenient  for  Webster 
— it  looked  like  pretence.  Ninety-nine  out  of 
every  hundred  newspaper  readers  would  con- 
sider his  illness  a  fake,  the  obvious  trick  to 
escape  the  work  of  explaining  what  seemed  to 
be  inexplicable  circumstances, 

To  Hastings  the  situation  was  particularly 
annoying  because  he  had  brought  it  about;  his 
own  questioning  had  turned  out  to  be  the 


HENDRICKS  KEPORTS  159 

straw  that  broke  the  suspected  man's  endur- 
ance. 

"  Always  blundering !  "  he  upbraided  himself. 
"  Trying  to  be  so  all-shot  smart,  I  overplayed 
my  hand." 

He  got  Dr.  Garnet  on  the  wire. 

"Doctor,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  implored, 
"  I'm  obliged  to  see  Webster  today." 

"  Sorry,  Mr.  Hastings,"  came  the  instant  re- 
fusal ;  "  but  it  can't  be  done." 

"  For  one  question,"  qualified  Hastings ;  "  less 
than  a  minute's  talk — one  word,  '  yes  '  or  '  no '? 
It's  almost  a  matter  of  life  and  death." 

"  If  that  man's  excited  about  anything,"  Gar- 
net retorted,  "it  will  be  entirely  a  matter  of 
death.  Frankly,  I  couldn't  see  my  way  clear 
to  letting  you  question  him  if  his  escaping  ar- 
rest depended  on  it.  I  called  in  Dr.  Welles  last 
night;  and  I'm  giving  you  his  opinion  as  well 
as  my  own." 

"When  can  I  see  him,  then?" 

"  I  can't  answer  that.  It  may  be  a  week ;  it 
may  be  a  month.  All  I  can  tell  you  today  is 
that  you  can't  question  him  now." 

With  that  information,  Hastings  decided  to 
interview  Judge  Wilton. 

"He's  the  next  best,"  he  thought.  "That 
whispering  across  the  woman's  body — it's  got 
to  be  explained,  and  explained  right !  " 


160  -"NO  CLUE!" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  refrained  from 
this  inquiry  the  day  before,  so  that  his  mind 
might  not  be  clouded  by  anger.  His  deception 
by  the  judge  had  greatly  provoked  him. 


XIII 

MBS.    BRACE    BEGINS 

COURT  had  recessed  for  lunch  when  Hast- 
ings, going  down  a  second-story  corridor 
of  the  Alexandria  county  courthouse,  en- 
tered Judge  Wilton's  anteroom.  His  hand  was 
raised  to  knock  on  the  door  of  the  inner  office 
when  he  heard  the  murmur  of  voices  on  the 
other  side.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  sat  down, 
welcoming  the  breeze  that  swept  through  the 
room,  a  refreshing  contrast  to  the  forenoon's 
heat  and  smother  downstairs. 

He  reached  for  his  knife  and  piece  of  pine, 
checked  the  motion  and  glanced  swiftly  toward 
the  closed  door.  A  high  note  of  a  woman's  voice 
touched  his  memory,  for  a  moment  confusing 
him.  But  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  While 
the  sound  was  still  in  his  ears,  he  remembered 
where  he  had  heard  it  before — from  Mrs.  Brace 
when,  toward  the  close  of  his  interview  with 
her,  she  had  shrilly  denounced  Berne  Webster. 

Mrs.  Brace,  her  daughter's  funeral  barely 
three  hours  old,  had  started  to  make  her  threats 
good. 

161 


162  "NO  CLUE!" 

While  he  was  considering  that,  the  door  of 
the  private  office  swung  inward,  Judge  Wilton's 
hand  on  the  knob.  It  opened  on  the  middle  of 
a  sentence  spoken  by  Mrs.  Brace: 

" — tell  you,  you're  a  fool  if  you  think  you 
can  put  me  off  with  that ! " 

Her  gleaming  eyes  were  so  furtive  and  so 
quick  that  they  traversed  the  whole  of  Wilton's 
countenance  many  times,  a  fiery  probe  of  each 
separate  feature.  The  inflections  of  her  voice 
invested  her  words  with  ugliness;  but  she  did 
not  shriek. 

"  You  bully  everybody  else,  but  not  me !  They 
don't  call  you  i  Hard  Tom  Wilton '  for  nothing, 
do  they?  I  know  you!  I  know  you,  I  tell  you! 
I  was  down  there  in  the  courtroom  when  you 
sentenced  that  man!  You  had  cruelty  in  your 
mind,  cruelty  on  your  face.  Ugh !  And  you're 
cruel  to  me — and  taking  an  ungodly  pleasure 
in  it!  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  I  won't  be  broken 
by  it.  I  want  fair  dealing,  and  I'll  have  it ! " 

At  that  moment,  facing  full  toward  Hastings, 
she  caught  sight  of  him.  But  his  presence 
seemed  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  her;  it 
did  not  break  the  stream  of  her  fierce  invective. 
She  did  not  even  pause. 

He  saw  at  once  that  her  anger  of  yesterday 
was  as  nothing  to  the  storming  rage  which 
shook  her  now.  Every  line  of  her  face  revealed 


MRS.  BRACE  BEGINS  163 

malignity.  The  eyebrows  were  drawn  higher  on 
her  forehead,  nearer  to  the  wave  of  white  hair 
that  showed  under  her  black  hat.  The  nostrils 
dilated  and  contracted  with  indescribable  rapid- 
ity. The  lips,  thickened  and  rolling  back  at 
intervals  from  her  teeth,  revealed  more  dis- 
tinctly that  animal,  exaggerated  wetness  which 
had  so  repelled  him. 

"  You  were  out  there  on  that  lawn ! "  she 
pursued,  her  glance  flashing  back  to  the  judge. 
"  You  were  out  there  when  she  was  killed!  If 
you  try  to  tell  me  you " 

"Stop  it!  Stop  it!"  Wilton  commanded, 
and,  as  he  did  so,  turned  his  head  to  an  angle 
that  put  Hastings  within  his  field  of  vision. 

The  judge,  with  one  hand  on  the  doorknob, 
had  been  pressing  with  the  other  against  the 
woman's  shoulders,  trying  to  thrust  her  out  of 
the  room — a  move  which  she  resisted  by  a  hang- 
ing-back posture  that  threw  her  weight  on  his 
arm.  He  put  more  strength  now  into  his  effort 
and  succeeded  in  forcing  her  clear  of  the  thresh- 
old. His  eyes  were  blazing  under  the  shadow 
of.  his  heavy,  overhanging  brows ;  but  there  was 
about  him  no  suggestion  of  a  loss  of  self-control. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you ! "  he  told  Hastings, 
speaking  over  Mrs.  Brace's  head,  and  smiling 
a  deprecatory  recognition  of  the  hopelessness 
of  contending  with  an  infuriated  woman. 


164  "NO  CLUE!" 

She  addressed  them  both. 

"  Smile  all  you  please,  now !  "  she  threatened. 
"  But  the  accounts  aren't  balanced  yet !  Wait 
for  what  I  choose  to  tell — what  I  intend  to  do !  " 

Suddenly  she  got  herself  in  hand.  It  was  as 
unexpected  and  thorough  a  transformation  as 
the  one  Hastings  had  seen  twenty-four  hours 
before  during  her  declaration  of  Webster's  guilt. 
She  had  the  same  appearance  now  as  then,  the 
same  tautness  of  body,  the  same  flat,  constrained 
tone. 

She  turned  to  Wilton: 

"  I  ask  you  again,  will  you  help  me  as  I  asked 
you?  Are  you  going  to  deny  me  fair  play?  " 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazament,  scowling. 

"  What  fair  play?  "  he  exclaimed,  and,  with- 
out waiting  for  her  reply,  said  to  Hastings: 
"  She  insists  that  I  know  young  Webster  killed 
her  daughter,  that  I  can  produce  the  evidence  to 
prove  it.  Can  you  disabuse  her  mind?  " 

She  surprised  them  by  going,  slowly  and  with 
apparent  composure,  toward  the  corridor  door. 
There  she  paused,  looking  at  first  one  and  then 
the  other  with  an  evil  smile  so  openly  contempt- 
uous that  it  affected  them  strongly.  There  was 
something  in  it  that  made  it  flagrantly  insulting. 
Hastings  turned  away  from  her.  Judge  Wilton 
gave  her  look  for  look,  but  his  already  flushed 
face  coloured  more  darkly. 


MRS.  BRACE  BEGINS  165 

"  Very  well,  Judge  Wilton ! "  she  gave  him 
insolent  good-bye,  in  which  there  was  also  un- 
mistakable threat.  "  You'll  do  the  right  thing 
sooner  or  later — and  as  I  tell  you.  You're — get 
this  straight — you're  not  through  with  me  yet !  " 

She  laughed,  one  low  note,  and,  impossible 
as  it  seemed,  proclaimed  with  the  harsh  sound 
an  absolute  confidence  in  what  she  said. 

"  Nor  you,  Mr.  Hastings !  "  she  continued, 
taking  her  time  with  her  words,  and  waiting 
until  the  detective  faced  her  again,  before  she 
concluded :  "  You'll  sing  a  different  tune  when 
you  find  I've  got  this  affair  in  my  hands — tight! ' 

Still  smiling  her  contempt,  as  if  she  enjoyed 
a  feeling  of  superiority,  she  left  the  room.  When 
her  footsteps  died  down  the  corridor,  the  two 
men  drew  long  breaths  of  relief. 

Wilton  broke  the  ensuing  silence. 

"  Is  she  sane?  " 

"  Yes,"  Hastings  said,  "  so  far  as  sanity  can 
be  said  to  exist  in  a  mind  consecrated  to  evil." 

The  judge  was  surprised  by  the  solemnity  of 
the  other's  manner.  "  Why  do  you  say  that?  " 
he  asked.  "  Do  you  know  that  much  about 
her?  " 

"  Who  wouldn't?  "  Hastings  retorted.  "  It's 
written  all  over  her." 

Wilton  led  the  way  into  his  private  office  and 
closed  the  door. 


166  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  I'm  glad  it  happened  at  just  this  time,"  he 
said,  "when  everybody's  out  of  the  building." 
He  struck  the  desk  with  his  fist.  "  By  God!  " 
he  ground  out  through  gritted  teeth.  "  How  I 
hate  these  wild,  unbridled  women !  " 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Hastings,  taking  the  chair  Wil- 
ton rolled  forward  for  him.  "  She  worries  me. 
Wonder  if  she's  going  to  Sloanehurst." 

"  That  would  be  the  logical  sequel  to  this 
visit,"  Wilton  said.  "  But  pardon  my  show  of 
temper.  You  came  to  see  me?  " 

"  Yes ;  and,  like  her,  for  inf ormation.  But," 
the  detective  said,  smiling,  "  not  for  rough-house 
purposes." 

The  judge  had  not  entirely  regained  his  equa- 
nimity; his  face  still  wore  a  heightened  colour; 
his  whole  bearing  was  that  of  a  man  mentally 
reviewing  the  results  of  an  unpleasant  incident. 
Instead  of  replying  promptly  to  Hastings,  he 
sat  looking  out  of  the  window,  obviously 
troubled. 

"  Her  game  is  blackmail,"  he  declared  at  last. 

"  On  whom?  "  the  detective  queried. 

"Arthur  Sloane,  of  course.  She  calculates 
that  he'll  play  to  have  her  cease  annoying  his 
daughter's  fiance'.  And  she'll  impress  Arthur, 
if  Jarvis  ever  lets  her  get  to  him.  Somehow, 
she  strangely  compels  credence." 

"  Not  for  me,"  Hastings  objected,  and  did  not 


MRS.  BRACE  BEGINS  167 

point  out  that  Wilton's  words  might  be  taken 
as  an  admission  of  Webster's  guilt. 

The  judge  himself  might  have  seen  that. 

"  I  mean/'  he  qualified,  "  she  seems  too  smart 
a  woman  to  put  herself  in  a  position  where 
ridicule  will  be  sure  to  overtake  her.  And  yet, 
that's  what  she's  doing — isn't  she?  " 

The  detective  was  whittling,  dropping  the 
chips  into  the  waste-basket.  He  spoke  with  a 
deliberateness  unusual  even  in  him,  framing 
each  sentence  in  his  mind  before  giving  it  utter- 
ance. 

"  I  reckon,  judge,  you  and  I  have  had  some 
four  or  five  talks — that  is,  not  counting  Satur- 
day evening  and  yesterday  at  Sloanehurst. 
That's  about  the  extent  of  our  acquaintance. 
That  right?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  Wilton  said,  surprised  by  the 
change  of  topic. 

"  I  mention  it,"  Hastings  explained,  "  to  show 
how  I've  felt  toward  you — you  interested  me. 
Excuse  me  if  I  speak  plainly — you'll  see  why 
later  on — but  you  struck  me  as  worth  studying, 
deep.  And  I  thought  you  must  have  sized  me 
up,  catalogued  me  one  way  or  the  other.  You're 
like  me:  waste  no  time  with  men  who  bore  you. 
I  felt  certain,  if  you'd  been  asked,  you'd  have 
checked  me  off  as  reliable.  Would  you?  " 

"  Unquestionably." 


168  "NO  CLUE!" 

"And,  if  I  was  reliable  then,  I'm  reliable 
now.  That's  a  fair  assumption,  ain't  it?  " 

"Certainly."  The  judge  laughed  shortly,  a 
little  embarrassed. 

"  That  brings  me  to  my  point.  You'll  believe 
me  when  I  tell  you  my  only  interest  in  this 
murder  is  to  find  the  murderer,  and,  while  I'm 
doing  it,  to  save  the  Sloanes  as  much  as  possible 
from  annoyance.  You'll  believe  me,  also,  when 
I  say  I've  got  to  have  all  the  facts  if  I'm  to 
work  surely  and  fast.  You  recognize  the  force 
of  that,  don't  you?  " 

"Why,  yes,  Hastings."  Wilton  spoke  impa- 
tiently this  time. 

"  Fine ! "  The  old  man  shot  him  a  genial 
glance  over  the  steel-rimmed  spectacles.  "  That's 
the  introduction.  Here's  the  real  thing:  I've  an 
idea  you  could  tell  me  more  about  what  hap- 
pened on  the  lawn  Saturday  night." 

After  his  involuntary,  immediate  start  of  sur- 
prise, Wilton  tilted  his  head,  slowly  blowing  the 
cigar  smoke  from  his  pursed  lips.  He  had  a  fine 
air  of  reflection,  careful  thought. 

"  I  can  elaborate  what  I've  already  told  you," 
he  said,  finally,  "if  that's  what  you  mean — go 
into  greater  detail." 

He  watched  closely  the  edge  of  the  detective's 
face  unhidden  by  his  bending  over  the  wood  he 
was  cutting. 


MRS.  BRACE  BEGINS  169 

"  I  don't  think  elaboration  could  do  much 
good,"  Hastings  objected.  "  I  referred  to  new 
stuff — some  fact  or  facts  you  might  have  omitted, 
unconsciously." 

"  Unconsciously?  "  Wilton  echoed  the  word, 
as  a  man  does  when  his  mind  is  overtaxed. 

Hastings  took  it  up. 

"  Or  consciously,  even,"  he  said  quickly,  meet- 
ing the  other's  eyes. 

The  judge  moved  sharply,  bracing  himself 
against  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  " 

"  Skilled  in  the  law  yourself,  thoroughly  famil- 
iar, with  the  rules  of  evidence,  it's  more  than 
possible  that  you  might  have  reviewed  matters 
and  decided  that  there  were  things  which,  if 
they  were  known,  would  do  harm  instead  of  good 
— obscure  the  truth,  perhaps ;  or  hinder  the  hunt 
for  the  guilty  man  instead  of  helping  it  on. 
That's  clear  enough,  isn't  it?  You  might  have 
thought  that?  " 

The  look  of  sullen  resentment  in  the  judge's 
face  was  unmistakable. 

"  Oh,  say  what  you  mean ! "  he  retorted 
warmly.  "  What  you're  insinuating  is  that  I've 
lied!" 

"  It  don't  have  to  be  called  that." 

"  Well,  then,  that  I,  a  judge,  sworn  to  up- 
hold the  law  and  punish  crime,  have  elected  to 


170  "NO  CLUE!" 

thwart  the  law  and  to  cheat  its  officials  of  the 
facts  they  should  have.  Is  that  what  you 
mean?  " 

"  I'll  be  honest  with  you,"  Hastings  admitted, 
unmoved  by  the  other's  grand  manner.  "  I've 
wondered  about  that — whether  you  thought 
a  judge  had  a  right  to  do  a  thing  of  that 
sort." 

Wilton's  hand,  clenched  on  the  edge  of  the 
desk,  shook  perceptibly. 

"Did  you  think  that,  judge?"  the  detective 
persisted. 

The  judge  hesitated. 

"  It's  a  point  I've  never  gone  into,"  he  said 
finally,  with  intentional  sarcasm. 

Hastings  snapped  his  knife-blade  shut  and 
thrust  the  piece  of  wood  into  his  pocket. 

"  Let's  get  away  from  this  beating  about  the 
bush,"  he  suggested,  voice  on  a  sterner  note. 
"  I  don't  want  to  irritate  you  unnecessarily, 
judge.  I  came  here  for  information — stuff  I'm 
more  than  anxious  to  get.  And  I  go  back  to 
that  now :  won't  you  tell  me  anything  more  about 
the  discovery  of  the  woman's  body  by  the  two 
of  you — you  and  Webster?  " 

"  No ;  I  won't !  I've  covered  the  whole  thing 
— several  times." 

"  Is  there  anything  that  you  haven't  told — 
anything  you've  decided  to  suppress?  " 


MBS.  BRACE  BEGINS  171 

Wilton  got  up  from  his  chair  and  struck  the 
desk  with  his  fist. 

"  See  here,  Hastings !  You're  getting  beside 
yourself.  Representing  Miss  Sloane  doesn't 
warrant  your  insulting  her  friends.  Suppose 
we  consider  this  interview  at  an  end.  Some 
other  time,  perhaps " 

Hastings  also  had  risen. 

"  Just  a  minute,  judge ! "  he  interrupted,  all 
at  once  assuming  the  authoritative  air  that  had 
so  amazed  Wilton  the  night  of  the  murder. 
"  You're  suppressing  something — and  I  know 
it!" 

"That's  a  lie!"  Wilton  retorted,  the  flush 
deepening  to  crimson  on  his  face. 

"  It  ain't  a  lie,"  Hastings  contradicted,  hold- 
ing his  self-control.  "And  you  watch  your- 
self! Don't  you  call  me  a  liar  again — not 
as  long  as  you  live!  You  can't  afford  the 
insult." 

"Then,  don't  provoke  it.     Don't " 

"What  did  Webster  whisper  to  you,  across 
that  corpse?  "  Hastings  demanded,  going  nearer 
to  Wilton. 

"What's  this?"  Wilton's  tone  was  one  of 
consternation;  the  words  might  have  been 
spoken  by  a  man  stumbling  on  an  unsuspected 
horror  in  a  dark  room. 

They  stared  at  each  other  for  several  drag- 


172  "NO  CLUE!" 

ging  seconds.  The  detective  waved  a  hand  to- 
ward the  judge's  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  resuming  his  own  seat. 

There  followed  another  pause,  longer  than  the 
first.  The  judge's  breathing  was  laboured,  audi- 
ble. He  lowered  his  eyes  and  passed  his  hand 
across  their  thick  lids.  When  he  looked  up 
again,  Hastings  commanded  him  with  unwaver- 
ing, expectant  gaze. 

"  I've  made  a  mistake,"  Wilton  began  huskily, 
and  stopped. 

"  Yes?  "  Hastings  said,  unbending.    "  How?  " 

"  I  see  it  now.  It  was  a  matter  of  no  im- 
portance, in  itself.  I've  exaggerated  it,  by  my 
silence,  into  disproportionate  significance." 
His  tone  changed  to  curiosity.  "  Who  told  you 
about — the  whispering?  " 

The  detective  was  implacable,  emphasizing  his 
dominance. 

"First,  what  was  it?"  When  Wilton  still 
hesitated,  he  repeated :  "  What  did  Webster  say 
when  he  put  his  hand  over  your  mouth — to  pre- 
vent your  outcry?" 

The  judge  threw  up  his  head,  as  if  in  sudden 
resolve  to  be  frank.  He  spoke  more  readily,  with 
a  clumsy  semblance  of  amiability. 

"He  said,  <  Don't  do  that!  You'll  frighten 
Lucille ! '  I  tried  to  nod  my  head,  agreeing. 
But  he  misunderstood  the  movement,  I  think. 


MKS.  BRACE  BEGINS  173 

He  thought  I  meant  to  shout  anyway;  he  tight- 
ened his  grip.  '  Keep  quiet !  Will  you  keep 
quiet? '  he  repeated  two  or  three  times.  When 
I  made  my  meaning  clear,  he  took  his  hand 
away.  He  explained  later  what  had  occurred 
to  him  the  moment  Arthur's  light  flashed  on. 
He  said  it  came  to  him  before  he  clearly  realized 
who  I  was.  It 

"  I  swear,  Hastings,  I  hate  to  tell  you  this. 
It  suggests  unjust  suspicions.  Of  what  value 
are  the  wild  ideas  of  a  nervous  man,  all  to 
pieces  anyway,  when  he  stumbles  on  a  dead 
woman  in  the  middle  of  the  night?  " 

"  They  were  valuable  enough,"  Hastings 
flicked  him,  "for  you  to  cover  them  up — for 
some  reason.  What  were  they?  " 

Wilton  was  puzzled  by  the  detective's  tone, 
its  abstruse  insinuation.  But  he  answered  the 
question. 

"He  said  his  first  idea,  the  one  that  made 
him  think  of  Lucille,  was  that  Arthur  might 
have  had  something  to  do  with  the  murder." 

"  Why?  Why  did  he  think  Sloane  had  killed 
Mildred  Brace?" 

"  Because  she  had  been  the  cause  of  Lucille's 
breaking  her  engagement  with  Berne — and  Ar- 
thur knew  that.  Arthur  had  been  in  a  rage — — " 

"  All  right !  "  Hastings  checked  him  suddenly, 
and,  getting  to  his  feet,  fell  to  pacing  the  room, 


174  "NO  CLUE!" 

his  eyes,  always  on  Wilton.  "  I'm  acquainted 
with  that  part  of  it." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  Wilton's  evident  sur- 
prise at  that  statement.  He  had  a  surprise  of 
his  own  to  deal  with :  the  unexpected  similarity 
of  the  judge's  story  with  Lucille  Sloane's  theo- 
rizing as  to  what  Webster  had  whispered  across 
the  body  in  the  moment  of  its  discovery.  The 
two  statements  were  identical — a  coincidence 
that  defied  credulity. 

He  caught  himself  doubting  Lucille.  Had  she 
been  theorizing,  after  all?  Or  had  she  relayed 
to  him  words  that  Wilton  had  put  into  her 
mouth?  Then,  remembering  her  grief,  her  des- 
perate appeals  to  him  for  aid,  he  dismissed  the 
suspicion. 

"I'd  stake  my  life  on  her  honesty,"  he  de- 
cided. "  Her  intuition  gave  her  the  correct  solu- 
tion— if  Wilton's  not  lying  now !  " 

He  put  the  obvious  question :  "  Judge,  am  I 
the  first  one  to  hear  this — from  you?"  and  re- 
ceived the  obvious  answer :  "  You  are.  I  didn't 
volunteer  it  to  you,  did  I?  " 

"All  right.  Now,  did  you  believe  Webster? 
Wait  a  minute !  Did  you  believe  his  fear  wasn't 
for  himself  when  he  gagged  you  that  way?  " 

"Yes;  I  did,"  replied  Wilton,  in  a  tone  that 
lacked  sincerity.  , 

"  Do  you  believe  it  now?  " 


MKS.  BRACE  BEGINS  175 

"  If  I  didn't,  do  you  think  I'd  have  tried  for 
a  moment  to  conceal  what  he  said  to  me?  " 

"  Why  did  you  conceal  it?  " 

"  Because  Arthur  Sloane  was  my  friend,  and 
his  daughter's  happiness  would  have  been 
ruined  if  I'd  thrown  further  suspicion  on  him. 
Besides,  what  I  did  conceal  could  have  been  of 
no  value  to  any  detective  or  sheriff  on  earth. 
It  meant  nothing,  so  long  as  I  knew  the  boy's 
sincerity — and  his  innocence  as  well  as  Ar- 
thur's." 

"  But,"  Hastings  persisted,  "  why  all  this  con- 
cern for  Webster,  after  his  engagement  had  been 
broken? " 

"How's  that?"  Wilton  countered.  "Oh,  I 
see!  The  break  wasn't  permanent.  Arthur  and 
I  had  decided  on  that.  We  knew  they'd  get 
together  again." 

Hastings  halted  in  front  of  the  judge's  chair. 

"  Have  you  kept  back  anything  else?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Nothing,"  Wilton  said,  with  a  return  of  his 
former  sullenness.  "And,"  he  forced  himself 
to  the  avowal,  "  I'm  sorry  I  kept  that  back.  It's 
nothing." 

Hastings'  manner  changed  on  the  instant.  He 
was  once  more  cordial. 

"  All  right,  judge !  "  he  said  heartily,  consult- 
ing his  ponderous  watch.  "  This  is  all  between 


176  "NO  CLUE!" 

us.  I  take  it,  you  wouldn't  want  it  known  by 
the  sheriff,  even  now?  "  Wilton  shook  his  head 
in  quick  negation.  "All  right!  He  needn't — 
if  things  go  well.  And  the  person  I  got  it  from 
won't  spread  it  around. — That  satisfactory?  " 

The  judge's  smile,  in  spite  of  his  best  effort, 
was  devoid  of  friendliness.  The  dark  flush  that 
persisted  in  his  countenance  told  how  hardly 
he  kept  down  his  anger. 

Hastings  put  on  his  hat  and  ambled  toward 
the  door. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  proclaimed  an  afterthought, 
"  I've  got  to  ask  one  more  favour,  judge.  If  Mrs. 
Brace  troubles  you  again,  will  you  let  me  know 
about  it,  at  the  earliest  possible  moment?  " 

He  went  out,  chuckling. 

But  the  judge  was  as  mystified  as  he  was  re- 
sentful. He  had  detected  in  Hastings'  manner, 
he  thought,  the  same  self-satisfaction,  the  same 
quiet  elation,  which  he  and  Berne  had  observed 
at  the  close  of  the  music-room  interview.  Going 
to  the  window,  he  addressed  the  summer  sky : 

"  Who  the  devil  does  the  old  fool  suspect — 
Arthur  or  Berne?  " 


XIV 

ME.    CROWN    FORMS   AN    ALLIANCE 

**"W"F  you've  as  much  as  five  hundred  dollars 
at  your  disposal — pin-money  savings,  per- 
haps— anything  you  can  check  on  with- 
out the  knowledge  of  others,  you  can  do  it," 
Hastings  urged,  ending  a  long  argument. 

"  I !  Take  it  to  her  myself?  "  Lucille  still  pro- 
tested, although  she  could  not  refute  his  reason- 
ings. 

"  It's  the  only  way  that  would  be  effective — 
and  it  wouldn't  be  so  difficult.  I  had  counted 
on  your  courage — your  unusual  courage." 

"But  what  will  it  accomplish?  If  I  could 
only  see  that,  clearly!" 

She  was  beginning  to  yield  to  his  insistence. 

They  were  in  the  rose  garden,  in  the  shade 
of  a  little  arbor  from  whose  roof  the  great  red 
flowers  drooped  almost  to  the  girl's  hair.  He 
was  acutely  aware  of  the  pathetic  contrast  be- 
tween her  white,  ravaged  face  and  the  surround- 
ing scene,  the  fragrance,  the  roses  of  every  colour 
swaying  to  the  slow  breeze  of  late  afternoon,  the 
long,  cool  shadows.  He  found  it  hard  to  force 
177 


178  "NO  CLUE!" 

her  to  the  plan,  and  would  have  abandoned  it 
but  for  the  possibilities  it  presented  to  his  mind. 

"  I've  already  touched  on  that,"  he  applied 
himself  to  her  doubts.  "  I  want  you  to  trust 
me  there,  to  accept  my  solemn  assurance  that,  if 
Mrs.  Brace  accepts  this  money  from  you  on 
our  terms,  it  will  hasten  my  capture  of  the  mur- 
derer. I'll  say  more  than  that:  you  are  my 
only  possible  help  in  the  matter.  Won't  you 
believe  me?  " 

She  sat  quite  still,  a  long  time,  looking  stead- 
ily at  him  with  unseeing  eyes. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  to  that  dreadful  woman's 
apartment,  be  alone  with  her,  make  a  secret 
bargain,"  she  enumerated  the  various  parts  of 
her  task,  wonder  and  repugnance  mingling  in 
her  voice.  "  That  horrible  woman !  You  say, 
yourself,  Mr.  Hastings,  she's  horrible." 

"  Still,"  he  repeated,  "  you  can  do  it." 

A  little  while  ago  she  had  cried  out,  both 
hands  clenched  on  the  arm  of  the  rustic  bench, 
her  eyes  opening  wide  in  the  startled  look  he 
had  come  to  know :  "  If  I  could  do  something, 
anything,  for  Berne!  Dr.  Welles  said  only  an 
hour  ago  he  had  no  more  than  an  even  chance 
for  his  life.  Half  the  time  he  can't  speak!  And 
I'm  responsible.  I  am!  I  know  it.  I  try  to 
think  I'm  not.  But  I  am!" 

He  recurred  to  that. 


MR.  CROWN   FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE      179 

"  Dr.  Welles  said  the  ending  of  Mr.  Webster's 
suspense  would  be  the  best  medicine  for  him. 
And  I  think  Webster  would  see  that  nobody 
but  you  could  do  this — in  the  very  nature  of 
things.  The  absolute  secrecy  required,  the  fact 
that  you  buy  her  silence,  pay  her  to  cease  her 
accusations  against  Berne — don't  you  see?  He'd 
want  you  to  do  it." 

That  finished  her  resistance.  She  made  him 
repeat  all  his  directions,  precautions  for 
secrecy. 

"  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  important  it 
is,"  he  said.  "  And  keep  this  in  mind  always : 
I  rely  on  your  paying  her  the  money  without 
even  a  suspicion  of  it  getting  abroad.  If  acci- 
dents happen  and  you're  seen  entering  the  Wai- 
man,  what  more  natural  than  that  you  want 
to  ask  this  woman  the  meaning  of  her  vague 
threats  against — against  Sloanehurst? — But  of 
money,  your  real  object,  not  a  word!  Nobody's 
to  have  a  hint  of  it." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  see  the  necessity  of  that."  But 
she  was  distressed.  "  Suppose  she  refuses?  " 

Her  altered  frame  of  mind,  an  eagerness  now 
to  succeed  with  the  plan  she  had  at  first  re- 
fused, brought  him  again  his  thought  of  yester- 
day :  "  If  she  were  put  to  it — if  she  could  save 
only  one  and  had  to  choose  between  father  and 
fiance',  her  choice  would  be  for  the  fiance'." 


180  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

He  answered  her  question.  "  She  won't  re- 
fuse," he  declared,  with  a  confidence  she  could 
not  doubt.  "  If  I  thought  she  would,  I'd  almost 
be  willing  to  say  we'd  never  find  the  man  who 
killed  her  daughter." 

"  When  I  think  of  Russell's  alibi " 

"  Have  we  mentioned  Russell?  "  he  protested, 
laughing  away  her  fears.  "  Anyway,  his  old 
alibi's  no  good— if  that's  what's  troubling  you. 
Wait  and  see !  " 

He  was  in  high  good  humour. 

In  that  same  hour  the  woman  for  whom  he 
had  planned  this  trap  was  busy  with  a  scheme 
of  her  own.  Her  object  was  to  form  an  alliance 
with  Sheriff  Crown.  That  gentleman,  to  use  his 
expressive  phrase,  had  been  "putting  her  over 
the  jumps  "  for  the  past  forty  minutes,  bringing 
to  the  work  of  cross-questioning  h*er  all  the  in- 
telligence, craftiness  and  logic  at  his  command. 
The  net  result  of  his  fusillade  of  interrogatories, 
however,  was  exceedingly  meagre. 

As  he  sat,  caressing  his  chin  and  thrusting 
forward  his  bristly  moustache,  Mrs.  Brace  per- 
ceived in  his  eyes  a  confession  of  failure.  Al- 
though he  was  far  from  suspecting  it,  he  pre- 
sented to  her  keen  scrutiny  an  amusing  figure. 
She  observed  that  his  shoulders  drooped,  and 
that,  as  he  slowly  produced  a  handkerchief  and 


ME.  CKOWN  FOKMS  AN  ALLIANCE     181 

mopped  his  forehead,  his  movements  were  elo- 
quent of  gloom. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Crown  felt  himself  at  a  loss.  He 
had  come  to  the  end  of  his  resourcefulness  in 
the  art  of  probing  for  facts.  He  was  about  to 
take  his  departure,  with  the  secret  realization 
that  he  had  learned  nothing  new — unless  an  in- 
creased admiration  of  Mrs.  Brace's  sharpness  of 
wit  might  be  catalogued  as  knowledge. 

She  put  his  thought  into  language. 

"  You  see,  Mr.  Crown,  you're  wasting  your 
time  shouting  at  me,  bullying  me,  accusing  me 
of  protecting  the  murderer  of  my  own  daugh- 
ter." 

There  was  a  new  note  in  her  voice,  a  hint, 
ever  so  slight,  of  a  willingness  to  be  friendly. 
He  was  not  insensible  to  it.  Hearing  it,  he  put 
himself  on  guard,  wondering  what  it  portended. 

"  I  didn't  say  that,"  he  contradicted,  far  from 
graciousness.  "  I  said  you  knew  a  whole  lot 
more  about  the  murder  than  you'd  tell — tell  me 
anyway." 

"  But  why  should  I  want  to  conceal  anything 
that  might  bring  the  man  to  justice?  " 

"  Blessed  if  I  know !  "  he  conceded,  not  with- 
out signs  of  irritation. 

So  far  as  he  could  see,  not  a  feature  of  her 
face  changed.  The  lifted  eyebrows  were  still 
high  upon  her  forehead,  interrogative  and 


182  "NO  CLUE!" 

mocking;  the  restless,  gleaming  eyes  still  drilled 
into  various  parts  of  his  person  and  attire;  the 
thin  lips  continued  their  moving  pictures  of 
contempt.  And  yet,  he  saw,  too,  that  she  pre- 
sented to  him  now  another  countenance. 

The  change  was  no  more  than  a  shadow;  and 
the  shadow  was  so  light  that  he  could  not  be 
sure  of  its  meaning.  He  thought  it  was  friend- 
liness, but  that  opinion  was  dulled  by  recurrence 
of  his  admiration  of  her  "  smartness."  He 
feared  some  imposition. 

"  You've  adopted  Mr.  Hastings'  absurd  the- 
ory," she  said,  as  if  she  wondered.  "  You've 
subscribed  to  it  without  question." 

"What  theory?" 

"  That  I  know  who  the  guilty  man  is." 

«  Well?  "    He  was  still  on  guard. 

"  It  surprises  me — that's  all — a  man  of  your 
intellect,  your  originality." 

She  sighed,  marvelling  at  this  addition  to  life's 
conundrums. 

"Why?"  he  asked,  bluntly. 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  you'd  put  your- 
self in  that  position  before  the  public.  I  mean, 
letting  him  lead  you  around  by  the  nose — figura- 
tively." 

Mr.  Crown  started  forward  in  his  chair,  eyes 
popped.  He  was  indignant  and  surprised. 

"  Is  that  what  they're  saying?  "  he  demanded. 


ME.  CROWN  FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE     183 

"  Naturally,"  she  said,  and  with  the  one  word 
laid  it  down  as  an  impossibility  that  "  they " 
could  have  said  anything  else.  "  That's  what 
the  reporters  tell  me." 

"Well,  I'll  be— dog-goned!"  The  knuckle- 
like  chin  dropped.  "They're  saying  that,  are 
they?  " 

Disturbed  as  he  was,  he  noticed  that  she  re- 
garded him  with  apparently  genuine  interest — 
that,  perhaps,  she  added  to  her  interest  a  re- 
gret that  he  had  displayed  no  originality  in  the 
investigation,  a  man  of  his  intellect! 

"  They  couldn't  understand  why  you  were 
playing  Hastings'  game,"  she  proceeded,  "  play- 
ing it  to  his  smallest  instructions." 

"  Hastings'  game!  What  the  thunder  are  they 
talking  about?  What  do  they  mean,  his  game?  " 

"  His  desire  to  keep  suspicion  away  from  the 
Sloanes  and  Mr.  Webster.  That's  what  they 
hired  him  for— isn't  it?" 

"  I  guess  it  is — by  gravy !  "  Mr.  Crown's  long- 
drawn  sigh  was  distinctly  tremulous. 

"  That  old  man  pockets  his  fee  when  he 
throws  Gene  Russell  into  jail.  Why,  then,  isn't 
it  his  game  to  convince  you  of  Gene's  guilt? 
Why  isn't  it  his  game  to  persuade  you  of  my 
secret  knowledge  of  Gene's  guilt?  Why " 

"  So,  that's " 

"Let  me  say  what  I  started,"  she  in  turn 


184  "NO  CLUE!" 

interrupted  him.  "As  one  of  the  reporters 
pointed  out,  why  isn't  it  his  game  to  try  to  make 
a  fool  of  you?  " 

The  smile  with  which  she  recommended  that 
rumour  to  his  attention  incensed  him  further. 
It  patronized  him.  It  said,  as  openly  as  if  she 
had  spoken  the  words :  "  I'm  really  very  sorry 
for  you." 

He  dropped  his  hands  to  his  widespread 
knees,  slid  forward  to  the  edge  of  his  chair, 
thrust  his  face  closer  to  hers,  peered  into  her 
hard  face  for  her  meaning. 

"  Making  a  fool  of  me,  is  he?  "  he  said  in  the 
brutal  key  of  un repressed  rage. 

A  quick  motion  of  her  lifted  brows,  a  curve 
of  her  lower  lip — indubitably,  a  new  significance 
of  expression — stopped  his  outburst. 

"By  George!"  he  said,  taken  aback.  "By 
George! "  he  repeated,  this  time  in  a  coarse  ex- 
ultation. He  thrust  himself  still  closer  to  her, 
certain  now  of  her  meaning. 

"  What  do  you  know?  "  He  lowered  his  voice 
and  asked  again :  "  Mrs.  Brace,  what  do  you 
know?  " 

She  moved  back,  farther  from  him.  She  was 
not  to  be  rushed  into — anything.  She  made  him 
appreciate  the  difficulty  of  "getting  next"  to 
her.  He  no  longer  felt  fear  of  her  imposing  on 
him — she  had  just  exposed,  for  his  benefit,  how 


MR.  CROWN  FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE     185 

Hastings  had  played  on  his  credulity!  He  felt 
grateful  to  her  for  that.  His  only  anxiety  now 
was  that  she  might  change  her  mind,  might 
refuse  him  the  assistance  which  that  new  and 
subtle  expression  had  promised  a  moment  ago. 

"  If  I  thought  you'd  use "  she  began, 

broke  off,  and  looked  past  his  shoulder  at  the 
opposite  wall,  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  sharp  points 
of  light,  lips  drawn  to  a  line  almost  invisible. 

Her  evident  prudence  fired  his  eagerness. 

"  If  I'd  do  what?  "  he  asked.  "  If  you  thought 
I'd— what?  " 

"  Let  me  think,"  she  requested. 

He  changed  his  posture,  with  a  great  show 
of  watching  the  sunset  sky,  and  stole  little 
glances  at  her  smooth,  untroubled  face.  He  be- 
lieved now  that  she  could  put  him  on  the  trail 
of  the  murderer.  He  confessed  to  himself,  un- 
reservedly, that  Hastings  had  tricked  him,  held 
him  up  to  ridicule — to  the  ridicule  of  a  nation, 
for  this  crime  held  the  interest  of  the  entire 
country.  But  here  was  his  chance  for  revenge! 
With  this  "  smart "  woman's  help,  he  would  out- 
wit Hastings! 

"  If  you'd  use  my  ideas  confidentially,"  she 
said  at  last,  eying  him  as  if  she  speculated  on 
his  honesty ;  "  if  I  were  sure  that " 

"  Why  can't  you  be  sure  of  it?  "  he  broke  in. 
"  My  job  is  to  catch  the  man  who  killed  your 


186  "NO  CLUE!" 

daughter.  I've  got  two  jobs.  The  other  is  to 
show  up  old  Hastings!  Why  wouldn't  I  do  as 
you  ask — exactly  as  you  ask?  " 

She  tantalized  him. 

"  And  remember  that  what  I  say  is  ideas  only, 
not  knowledge?  " 

"Sure!     Certainly,  Mrs.  Brace." 

"And,  even  when  you  arrest  the  right  man, 
say  nothing  of  what  you  owe  me  for  my  sug- 
gestions? You're  the  kind  of  man  to  want  to 
do  that  sort  of  thing — give  me  credit  for  help- 
ing you." 

Even  that  pleased  him. 

"  If  you  specify  silence,  I  give  you  my  word 
on  it,"  he  said,  with  a  fragment  of  the  pompous 
manner  he  had  brought  into  the  apartment  more 
than  an  hour  ago. 

"You'll  take  my  ideas,  my  theory,  work  on 
it  and  never  bring  me  into  it — in  any  way?  If 
you  make  that  promise,  I'll  tell  you  what  I 
think,  what  I'm  certain  is  the  answer  to  this 
puzzle." 

"  Win  or  lose,  right  or  wrong  idea,  you  have 
my  oath  on  it." 

"  Very  well !  "  She  said  that  with  the  air  of 
one  embarking  on  a  tremendous  venture  and 
scorning  all  its  possibilities  of  harm.  "  I  shall 
trust  you  fully. — First,  let  me  sketch  all  the 
known  facts,  everything  connected  with  the 


MR.  CKOWN  FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE      187 

tragedy,  and  everything  I  know  concerning  the 
conduct  of  the  affected  individuals  since." 

He  was  leaning  far  toward  her  once  more,  a 
child-like  impatience  stamped  on  his  face.  As 
she  proceeded,  his  admiration  grew. 

For  this,  there  was  ample  ground.  The  news- 
paper paragraph  Hastings  had  read  that  morn- 
ing commenting  on  her  mastery  of  all  the  de- 
tails of  the  crime  had  scarcely  done  her  justice. 
Before  she  concluded,  Crown  had  heard  from 
her  lips  little  incidents  that  had  gone  over  his 
head.  She  put  new  and  accurate  meaning  into 
facts  time  and  time  again,  speaking  with  the 
particularity  and  vividness  of  an  eye-witness. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  having  reconstructed  the 
crime  and  described  the  subsequent  behaviour 
of  the  tragedy's  principal  actors;  "now  who's 
guilty?" 

"  Exactly,"  echoed  Crown,  with  a  click  in  his 
throat.  "  Who's  guilty?  What's  your  theory?  " 

She  was  silent,  eyes  downcast,  her  hands 
smoothing  the  black,  much-worn  skirt  over  her 
lean  knees.  Recital  of  the  gruesome  story,  the 
death  of  her  only  child,  had  left  her  unmoved, 
had  not  quickened  her  breathing. 

"  In  telling  you  that,"  she  resumed,  her  rest- 
less eyes  striking  his  at  rapid  intervals,  "  I  think 
I'll  put  you  in  a  position  to  get  the  right  man 
— if  you'll  act." 


188  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Oh,  I'll  act!  "  he  declared,  largely.  "  Don't 
bother  your  head  about  that!  " 

"  Of  course,  it's  only  a  theory " 

"Yes;  I  know!    And  I'll  keep  it  to  myself." 

"Very  well.  Arthur  Sloane  is  prostrated, 
can't  be  interviewed.  He  can't  be  interviewed, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  he's  afraid  he'll  tell 
what  he  knows.  Why  is  he  afraid  of  that?  Be- 
cause he  knows  too  much,  for  his  own  comfort, 
and  too  much  for  his  daughter's  comfort.  How 
does  he  know  it?  Because  he  saw  enough  night 
before  last  to  leave  him  sure  of  the  murderer's 
identity. 

"  He  was  the  man  who  turned  on  the  light, 
showing  Webster  and  Judge  Wilton  bending 
over  Mildred's  body.  It  occurred  at  a  time  when 
usually  he  is  in  his  first  sound  sleep — from  bro- 
mides. Something  must  have  happened  to 
awake  him,  an  outcry,  something.  And  yet,  he 
says  he  didn't  see  them — Wilton  and  Web- 
ster." 

"  By  gravy ! "  exclaimed  the  sheriff,  awe- 
struck. 

"Either,"  she  continued,  "Arthur  Sloane 
saw  the  murder  done,  or  he  looked  out  in  time 
to  see  who  the  murderer  was.  The  facts  sub- 
stantiate that.  They  are  corroborated  by  his 
subsequent  behaviour.  Immediately  after  the 
murder  he  was  in  a  condition  that  couldn't  be 


MR.  CROWN  FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE     189 

explained  by  the  mere  fact  that  he's  a  sufferer 
from  chronic  nervousness.  When  Hastings 
asked  him  to  take  a  handkerchief,  he  would 
have  fallen  to  the  ground  but  for  the  judge's 
help.  He  couldn't  hold  an  electric  torch.  And, 
ever  since,  he's  been  in  bed,  afraid  to  talk.  Why, 
he  even  refused  to  talk  to  Hastings,  the  man  he's 
retained  for  the  family's  protection !  " 

"  He  did,  did  he !  How  do  you  know  that, 
Mrs.  Brace?" 

"  Isn't  it  enough  that  I  know  it — or  advance 
it  as  a  theory?  " 

"  Did — I  thought,  possibly,  Jarvis,  the  valet, 
told  you." 

She  ignored  that. 

"  Now,  as  to  the  daughter  of  the  house.  There 
was  only  one  possible  reason  for  Lucille  Sloane's 
hiring  Hastings:  she  was  afraid  somebody  in 
the  house,  WTebster,  of  course,  would  be  arrested. 
Being  in  love  with  him,  she  never  would  have 
suspected  him  unless  there  had  been  concrete, 
undeniable  evidence  of  his  guilt.  Do  you  grasp 
that  reasoning?  " 

"  Sure,  I  do ! "  Mr.  Crown  condemned  him- 
self. "  WThat  I'm  wondering  is  why  I  didn't  see 
it  long  ago." 

"  She,  too,  you  recall,  was  looking  out  of  a 
window — on  that  side  of  the  hcuse — scarcely 
fifteen  yards  from  where  the  crime  was  done. 


190  "NO  CLUE!" 

It's  not  hard  to  believe  that  she  saw  what  her 
father  saw:  the  murder  or  the  murderer. 

"  Mr.  Crown,  if  you  can  make  her  or  her  father 
talk,  you'll  get  the  truth  of  this  thing,  the  truth 
and  the  murderer. 

"And  look  at  Judge  Wilton's  part.  You 
asked  me  why  I  went  to  his  office  this  morning. 
I  went  because  I'm  sure  he  knows  the  truth. 
Didn't  he  stay  right  at  Webster's  side  when 
old  Hastings  interviewed  Webster  yesterday? 
Why?  To  keep  Webster  from  letting  out,  in  his 
panic,  a  secret  which  both  of  them  knew." 

The  sheriff's  admiration  by  this  time  was 
boundless.  He  felt  driven  to  give  it  expression. 

"  Mrs.  Brace,  you're  a  loo-loo !  A  loo-loo,  by 
gravy !  Sure,  that  was  his  reason.  He  couldn't 
have  had  any  other !  " 

"  As  for  Webster  himself,"  she  carried  on  her 
exposition,  without  emotion,  without  the  slight- 
est recognition  of  her  pupil's  praise,  "  he  proves 
the  correctness  of  everything  we've  said,  so  far. 
That  secret  which  the  judge  feared  he  would 
reveal,  that  secret  which  old  Hastings  was 
blundering  after — that  secret,  Mr.  Crown,  was 
such  a  danger  to  him  that,  to  escape  the  ques- 
tioning of  even  stupid  old  Hastings,  he  could 
do  nothing  but  crumple  up  on  the  floor  and 
feign  illness,  prostration.  Why,  don't  you  see, 
he  was  afraid  to  talk !  " 


ME.  CEOWN  FOEMS  AN  ALLIANCE     191 

"  Everything  you  say  hits  the  mark !  "  agreed 
Crown,  smiling  happily.  "  Centre-shots !  Cen- 
tre-shots! You've  been  right  from  the  very  be- 
ginning. You  tried  to  tell  me  all  this  yesterday 
morning,  and,  fool  that  I  was — fool  that  Hast- 
ings was!  "  He  switched  to  a  summary  of  what 
she  had  put  into  his  mind :  "  It's  right !  Webster 
killed  her,  and  Sloane  and  his  daughter  saw 
him  at  it.  Even  Wilton  knows  it — and  he  a 
judge!  It  seems  impossible.  By  gravy!  he 
ought  to  be  impeached." 

A  new  idea  struck  him.  Mrs.  Brace,  imper- 
turbable, exhibiting  no  elation,  was  watching 
him  closely.  She  saw  his  sudden  change  of 
countenance.  He  had  thought :  "  She  didn't  rea- 
son this  out.  Eussell  saw  the  murder — the  cow- 
ard— and  he's  told  her.  He  ran  away  from " 

Another  suspicion  attacked  him :  "  But  that  was 
Jarvis'  night  off.  Has  she  seen  Jarvis?  " 

Impelled  to  put  this  fresh  bewilderment  into 
words,  he  was  stayed  by  the  restless,  brilliant 
eyes  with  which  she  seemed  to  penetrate  his 
lumbering  mind.  He  was  afraid  of  losing  her 
cooperation.  She  was  too  valuable  an  ally  to 
affront.  He  kept  quiet. 

She  brought  him  back  to  her  purpose. 

"  Then,  you  agree  with  me?  You  think  Web- 
ster's guilty?  " 

"  Think !  "    He  almost  shouted  his  contempt 


192  "NO  CLUE!" 

of  the  inadequate  word.  "  Think !  I  know ! 
Guilty?  The  man's  black  with  guilt." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,"  she  said,  curiously  skilful 
in  surrendering  to  him  all  credit  for  that  vital 
discovery.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do — now 
that  you  know?  " 

"  Make  him  talk,  turn  him  inside  out !  Play- 
ing sick,  is  he!  I'm  going  back  to  Sloanehurst 
this  evening.  I'm  going  to  start  something. 
You  can  take  this  from  me:  Webster'll  loosen 
that  tongue  of  his  before  another  sun  rises !  " 

But  that  was  not  her  design. 

"  You  can't  do  it,"  she  objected,  her  voice 
heavy  with  disappointment.  "  Dr.  Garnet,  your 
own  coroner,  says  questioning  will  kill  him.  Dr. 
Garnet's  as  thoroughly  fooled  as  Hastings,  and," 
she  prodded  him  with  suddenly  sharp  tone, 
"you." 

"  That's  right."  He  was  crestfallen,  plucking 
at  his  chin.  "  That's  hard  to  get  around.  But 
I've  got  to  get  around  it!  I've  got  to  show 
results,  Mrs.  Brace.  People,  some  of  the  papers 
even,  are  already  hinting  that  I'm  too  easy  on 
a  rich  man  and  his  friend." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  evenly.  "And  you  told — I 
understood  you'd  act,  on  our  theory." 

"  I've  got  to !     I've  got  to  act ! " 

His  confusion  was  manifest.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  do,  and  he  was  silent,  hoping  for  a 


MB.   CROWN  FORMS  AN  ALLIANCE     193 

suggestion  from  her.  She  let  him  wait.  The 
pause  added  to  his  embarrassment. 

"  What  would — that  is,"  he  forced  himself  to 
the  appeal,  "  I  was  wondering — anything  occur 
to  you?  See  any  way  out  of  it?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  know  nothing  about  such  pro- 
cedure," she  replied  to  that,  slowly,  as  if  she 
groped  for  a  new  idea.  "  But,  if  you  got  the 
proof  from  somewhere  else,  enough  to  warrant 
the  arrest  of  Webster "  Her  smile  depre- 
cated her  probable  ineptness.  "  If  Arthur 
Sloane " 

He  fairly  fell  upon  the  idea. 

"  Right !  "  he  said,  clapping  his  hands  together. 
"  Sloane's  no  dying  man,  is  he?  And  he  knows 
the  whole  story.  Right  you  are,  Mrs.  Brace! 
He  can  shake  and  tremble  and  whine  all  he 
pleases,  but  tonight  he's  my  meat — my  meat, 
right!  Talk?  You  bet  he'll  talk !" 

She  considered,  looking  at  the  opposite  wall. 
He  was  convinced  that  she  examined  the  proj- 
ect, viewing  it  from  the  standpoint  of  his  in- 
terest, seeking  possible  dangers  of  failure. 
Nevertheless,  he  hurried  her  decision. 

"  It's  the  thing  to  do,  isn't  it?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  she  said  at  last.  "  You, 
with  your  mental  forcefulness,  your  ability  as 
a  questioner — why,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  fail 
to  get  at  what  he  knows.  Beside,  you  have  the 


194  "NO  CLUE!" 

element  of  surprise  on  your  side.  That  will  go 
far  toward  sweeping  him  off  his  feet." 

He  was  again  conscious  of  his  debt  of  grati- 
tude to  this  woman,  and  tried  to  voice  it. 

"  This  is  the  first  time,"  he  declared,  big  with 
confidence,  "  I've  felt  that  I  had  the  right  end 
of  this  case." 

When  she  had  closed  the  door  on  him,  she 
went  back  to  the  living  room  and  set  back  in 
its  customary  place  the  chair  he  had  occupied. 
Her  own  was  where  it  always  belonged.  From 
there  she  went  into  the  bathroom  and,  as  Hast- 
ings had  seen  her  do  before,  drew  a  glass  of 
water  which  she  drank  slowly. 

Then,  examining  her  hard,  smooth  face  in  the 
bedroom  mirror,  she  said  aloud: 

"Pretty  soon,  now,  somebody  will  talk  busi- 
ness— with  me." 

There  was  no  elation  in  her  voice.  But  her 
lips  were,  for  a  moment,  thick  and  wet,  chang- 
ing her  countenance  into  a  picture  of  inordinate 
greed. 


XV 

IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM 

HASTINGS  went  back  to  Sloanehurst  that 
evening  for  another  and  more  forceful 
attempt  to  argue  Arthur  Sloane  into 
frankness.  Like  Mrs.  Brace,  he  could  not  get 
away  from  the  definite  conclusion  that  Lucille's 
father  was  silent  from  fear  of  telling  what  he 
knew.  Moreover,  he  realized  that,  without  a 
closer  connection  with  Sloane,  his  own  handling 
of  the  case  was  seriously  impeded. 

Lucille  was  on  the  front  porch,  evidently  wait- 
ing for  him,  although  he  had  not  notified  her 
in  advance  of  his  visit.  She  went  hurriedly 
down  the  steps  and  met  him  on  the  walk.  When 
he  began  an  apology  for  having  to  annoy  her 
so  frequently,  she  cut  short  his  excuses. 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  glad  you're  here — so  glad!  We 
need  your  help.  The  sheriff's  here." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  coat  sleeve;  he  could 
feel  the  tremour  of  it  as  she  pulled,  uncon- 
sciously, on  the  cloth.  She  turned  toward  the 
verandah  steps. 

"  What's  he  doing?  "  he  asked,  detaining  her. 

195 


196  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  He's  in  father's  room,"  she  said  in  feverish 
haste,  "  asking  him  all  sorts  of  questions,  say- 
ing ridiculous  things.  Really,  I'm  afraid — for 
father's  health !  Can't  you  go  in  now?  " 

"Couldn't  Judge  Wilton  manage  him?  Isn't 
the  judge  here?  " 

"  No.  He  came  over  at  dinner  time ;  but  he 
went  back  to  the  Randalls'.  Father  didn't  feel 
up  to  talking  to  him." 

Crown,  she  explained,  had  literally  forced  his 
way  into  the  bedroom,  disregarding  her  pro- 
tests and  paying  no  attention  to  the  pretence 
of  physical  resistance  displayed  by  Jarvis. 

"  The  man  seems  insane !  "  she  said.  "  I  want 
you  to  make  him  leave  father's  room — please!  " 

She  halted  near  the  library  door,  leaving  the 
matter  in  Hastings'  hands.  Since  entering  the 
house  he  had  heard  Crown's  voice,  raised  to  the 
key  of  altercation;  and  now,  when  he  stepped 
into  Sloane's  room,  the  rush  of  words  continued. 

The  sheriff,  unaware  of  the  newcomer,  stood 
near  the  bed,  emphasizing  his  speech  with  rest- 
less arms  and  violent  motions  of  his  head,  as 
if  to  galvanize  into  response  the  still  and  pros- 
trate form  before  him.  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  bed  stood  the  sepulchral  Jarvis,  flashing 
malign  looks  at  Crown,  but  chiefly  busy,  with 
unshaking  hands,  preparing  a  beverage  of  some 
sort  for  the  sick  man. 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       197 

Sloane  lay  on  his  back,  eyes  closed,  face  under 
the  full  glare  of  the  reading  4ight.  His  expres- 
sion indicated  both  boredom  and  physical  suffer- 
ing. 

"  — have  to  make  an  arrest !  "  Crown  was  say- 
ing. "  You're  making  me  take  that  action — 
ain't  you?  I  come  in  here,  considerate  as  I 
know  how  to  be,  and  I  ask  you  for  a  few  facts. 
Do  you  give  'em  to  me?  Not  by  a  long  shot! 
You  lie  there  in  that  bed,  and  talk  about  leaping 
angels,  and  say  I  bore  you!  Well,  Mr.  Sloane, 
that  won't  get  you  a  thing!  You're  where  I 
said  you  were:  it's  either  Webster  that  will  be 
arrested — or  yourself!  Now,  I'm  giving  you 
another  chance.  I'm  asking  you  what  you  saw; 
and  you  can  tell  me — or  take  the  consequences !  " 

Hastings  thought :  "  He's  up  that  gum  stump 
of  his  again,  and  don't  know  how  to  quit  talk- 
ing." 

Sloane  made  no  answer. 

"  Well,"  thundered  Crown.  "  I'm  asking 
you!" 

"Moaning  martyrs!"  Sloane  protested  in  a 
thin,  querulous  tone.  "  Jarvis,  the  bromide." 

"  All  right ! "  the  sheriff  delivered  his  ulti- 
matum. "  I'll  stick  to  what  I  said.  Webster 
may  be  too  sick  to  talk,  but  not  too  sick  to 
have  a  warrant  served  on  him.  He'll  be  arrested 
because  you  won't  tell  me " 


198  "NO  CLUE!" 

Hastings  spoke  then. 

"  Gentlemen !  "  he  greeted  pleasantly.  "  Mr. 
Sloane,  good  evening.  Mr.  Sheriff — am  I  inter- 
rupting a  private  confernce?  " 

"  Fiery  fiends !  "  wailed  Sloane.    "  Another !  " 

Hastings  gave  his  attention  to  Crown.  He 
was  certain  that  the  man,  balked  by  Sloane's 
refusal  to  "  talk,"  would  welcome  an  excuse  for 
leaving  the  room. 

"Let  me  see  you  a  moment,  will  you?"  He 
put  a  hand  on  the  sheriff's  shoulder,  persuading : 
"  It's  important,  right  now." 

"  But  I  want  to  know  what  Mr.  Sloane's  go- 
ing to  say,"  Crown  blustered.  "  If  he'll 
tell " 

Hastings  stopped  him  with  a  whisper: 
"That's  exactly  what  he'll  do— soon!  " 

He  led  the  sheriff  into  the  hall.  They  went 
into  the  parlour. 

"  Now,"  Hastings  began,  in  genial  tone;  "did 
you  get  anything  from  him?" 

"  Not  a  dad-blamed  thing !  "  Crown  was  still 
blustery.  "  But  he'll  talk  before  I'm  through ! 
You  can  put  your  little  bets  down  on  that !  " 

"  All  right.  You've  had  your  chance  at  him. 
Better  let  me  see  him." 

Crown  looked  his  distrust.  He  was  thinking 
of  Mrs.  Brace's  warning  that  this  man  had  made 
a  fool  of  him. 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       199 

"  I'm  not  trying  to  put  anything  over  on  you," 
the  detective  assured  him.  "  Fact  is,  I'm  out 
here  for  the  newspaper  men.  They've  had  noth- 
ing from  him ;  they've  asked  me  to  get  his  story. 
I'll  give  it  to  you  before  I  see  them.  What  do 
you  say?  " 

Crown  still  hesitated. 

"  If,  after  you've  heard  it,"  Hastings  added, 
"  you  want  to  question  him  further,  you  can  do 
it,  of  course.  But  this  way  we  take  two  shots 
at  it." 

To  that,  the  other  finally  agreed. 

Hastings  found  Sloane  smoking  a  cigarette, 
his  eyes  still  closed.  Jarvis  was  behind  a  screen 
near  the  door,  now  and  then  clinking  glass 
against  glass  as  he  worked. 

The  old  man  took  a  chair  near  the  bed  and 
waited  for  Sloane  to  speak.  He  waited  a  long 
time.  Finally,  the  invalid  looked  at  him  from 
under  lowered  lids,  slyly,  like  a  child  peeping. 
Hastings  returned  the  look  with  a  pleasant 
smile,  his  shrewd  eyes  sparkling  over  the  rims 
of  his  spectacles. 

"  Well !  "  Sloane  said  at  last,  in  a  whiney  tone. 
"  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  First,"  Hastings  apologized,  "  I  want  to  say 
how  sorry  I  am  I  didn't  make  myself  clearly 
understood  night  before  last  when  I  told  Miss 
Sloane  I'd  act  as  mouthpiece  for  this  house- 


200  "NO  CLUE!" 

hold.  I  didn't  mean  I  could  invent  a  statement 
for  each  of  you,  or  for  any  of  you.  What  I 
did  mean  amounts  to  this:  if  you,  for  instance, 
would  tell  me  what  you  know — all  you  know — 
about  this  murder,  I  could  relay  it  to  the  re- 
porters— and  to  the  sheriff,  who's  been  annoying 
you  so  this  evening.  As " 

"  Flat-headed  fiends !  "  Sloane  cut  in,  writhing 
under  the  light  coverlet.  "  Another  harangue !  " 

Hastings  kept  his  temper. 

"  No  harangue  about  it.  But  it's  to  come  to 
this,  Mr.  Sloane:  you're  handicapping  me,  and 
the  reporters  and  the  sheriff  don't  trust  you." 

"  Why?  Why  don't  they  trust  me?  "  shrilled 
Sloane,  writhing  again. 

"Ill  tell  you  in  a  very  few  words:  because 
you  refused  to  testify  at  the  inquest  yesterday, 
giving  illness  as  an  excuse.  That's  one  reason. 
The " 

"Howling  helions!  W7asn't  I  ill?  Didn't  I 
have  enough  to  make  me  ill? — Jarvis,  a  little 
whiskey !  " 

"  Dr.  Garnet  hasn't  told  them  so — the  re- 
porters. He  won't  tell  them  so.  In  fact," 
Hastings  said,  with  less  show  of  cordiality, 
"  from  all  he  said  to  me,  I  gather  he  doesn't 
think  you  an  ill  man — that  is,  dangerously  ill." 

"  And  because  of  that,  they  say  what,  these 
reporters,  this  sheriff?  What?  " 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       201 

"  They're  in  ugly  mood,  Mr.  Sloane.  They're 
saying  you're  trying  to  protect — somebody — by 
keeping  still  about  a  thing  which  you  should 
be  the  first  to  haul  into  daylight.  That's  it — 
in  a  nutshell." 

Sloane  had  stopped  trembling.  He  sat  up  in 
the  bed  and  stared  at  the  detective  out  of  steady, 
hard  eyes.  He  waved  away  the  whiskey  Jarvis 
held  toward  him. 

"  And  you  want  what,  Mr.  Hastings?  "  he  in- 
quired, a  curiously  effective  sarcasm  in  his 
voice. 

"  A  statement  covering  every  second  from  the 
time  you  waked  up  Saturday  night  until  you 
saw  the  body." 

"  A  statement ! — Reporters !  "  He  was  snarl- 
ing on  that.  "  What's  got  into  you,  anyway? 
What  are  you  trying  to  do — make  people  sus- 
pect me  of  the  murder — make  'em  suspect 
Berne?  " 

He  threw  away  the  cigarette  and  shook  his 
fist  at  Hastings.  He  gulped  twice  before  he 
could  speak  again;  he  seemed  on  the  point  of 
choking. 

"  In  an  ugly  mood,  are  they?  Well,  they  can 
stay  in  an  ugly  mood.  You,  too!  And  that 
hydrophobiac  sheriff!  Quivering  and  crucified 
saints!  I've  had  enough  of  all  of  you — all  of 
you,  understand!  Get  out  of  here!  Get  out!  " 


202  "NO  CLUE!" 

Although  his  voice  was  shrill,  there  was  no 
sound  of  weakness  in  it.  The  trembling  that 
attacked  him  was  the  result  of  anger,  not  of 
nervousness. 

Hastings  rose,  astounded  by  the  outbreak. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  don't  realize  the  seriousness 
of " 

"  Oh,  get  out  of  here !"  Sloane  interrupted 
again.  "  You've  imposed  on  my  daughter  with 
your  talk  of  being  helpful,  and  all  that  rot, 
but  you  can't  hoodwink  me.  What  the  devil 
do  you  mean  by  letting  that  sheriff  come  in 
here  and  subject  me  to  all  this  annoyance  and 
shock?  You'd  save  us  from  unpleasantness!  " 

He  spoke  more  slowly  now,  as  if  he  cudgelled 
his  brain  for  the  most  biting  sarcasm,  the  most 
unbearable  insolence. 

"  Don't  realize  the  seriousness ! — Flat-headed 
fiends ! — Are  you  any  nearer  the  truth  now  than 
you  were  at  the  start? — Try  to  understand  this, 
Mr.  Hastings:  you're  discharged,  fired!  From 
now  on,  I'm  in  charge  of  what  goes  on  in  this 
house.  If  there's  any  trouble  to  be  avoided,  I'll 
attend  to  it.  Get  that!— and  get  out!  " 

Hastings,  opening  his  mouth  for  angry  re- 
tort, checked  himself.  He  stood  a  moment  silent, 
shaken  by  the  effort  it  cost  him  to  maintain  his 
self-control. 

"  Humph!  "    Sloane's  nasal,  twangy  exclama- 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       203 

tion  was  clearly  intended  to  provoke  him  fur- 
ther. 

But,  without  a  word,  he  turned  and  left  the 
room.  Passing  the  screen  near  the  door,  he 
heard  Jarvis  snicker,  a  discreet  echo  of  Sloane's 
goading  ridicule. 

On  his  way  back  to  the  parlour,  the  old  man 
made  up  his  mind  to  discount  Sloane's  be- 
haviour. 

"  I've  got  to  take  a  chance,"  he  counselled 
himself,  "  but  I  know  I'm  right  in  doing  it. 
A  big  responsibility — but  I'm  right!  " 

Then  he  submitted  this  report: 

"  He  says  nothing  new,  Crown.  Far  as  I  can 
make  out,  nothing  unusual  waked  him  up  that 
night — except  chronic  nervousness;  he  turned 
on  that  light  to  find  some  medicine;  he  knew 
nothing  of  the  murder  until  Judge  Wilton  called 
him." 

"  Humph !  "  growled  Crown.  "  And  you  fall 
for  that!" 

Hastings  eyed  him  sternly.  "  It's  the  state- 
ment I'm  going  to  give  to  the  reporters." 

The  sheriff  was  silent,  irresolute.  Hastings 
congratulated  himself  on  his  earlier  deduction: 
that  Crown,  unable  to  frighten  Sloane  into  com- 
municativeness, was  thankful  for  an  excuse  to 
withdraw. 

Hendricks  had  reported  the  two-hour  confer- 


204  "NO  CLUE!" 

ence  between  Crown  and  Mrs.  Brace  late  that 
afternoon.  Hastings  decided  now :  "  The  man's 
in  cahoots  with  her.  His  ally!  And  he  won't 
act  until  he's  had  another  session  with  her. — 
And  she  won't  advise  an  arrest  for  a  day  or  two 
anyway.  Her  game  is  to  make  him  play  on 
Sloane's  nerves  for  a  while.  She  advises 
threats,  not  arrests — which  suits  me,  to  a  T ! " 

He  fought  down  a  chuckle,  thinking  of  that 
alliance. 

Crown  corroborated  his  reasoning. 

"  All  right,  Hastings,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  I'm 
not  going  back  to  his  room.  I  gave  him  his 
chance.  He  can  take  the  consequences." 

"  What  consequences?  " 

"  I'd  hardly  describe  'em  to  his  personal  rep- 
resentative, would  I  ?  But  you  can  take  this  from 
me:  they'll  come  soon  enough — and  rough 
enough ! " 

Hastings  made  no  reference  to  having  been 
dismissed  by  Sloane.  He  was  glad  when  Crown 
changed  the  subject. 

"  Hastings,  you  saw  the  reporters  this  after- 
noon— I've  been  wondering — they  asked  me — did 
they  ask  you  whether  you  suspected  the  valet — 
Jarvis?" 

"Of  what?" 

«  Killing  her." 

"No;  they  didn't  ask  me." 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       205 

"Funny,"  said  Crown,  ill  at  ease.  "They 
asked  me." 

"  So  you  said,"  Hastings  reminded,  looking 
hard  at  him. 

"  Well !  "  Crown  blurted  it  out.  "  Do  you 
suspect  him?  Are  you  working  on  that  line — 
at  all?  " 

Hastings  paused.  He  had  no  desire  to  mis- 
lead him.  And  yet,  there  was  no  reason  for 
confiding  in  him — and  delay  was  at  present  the 
Hastings  plan. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Crown,"  he  said,  finally;  "  I'll 
work  on  any  line  that  can  lead  to  the  guilty 
man. — What  do  you  know?  " 

"Who?  Me?"  Crown's  tone  indicated  the 
absurdity  of  suspecting  Jarvis.  "  Not  a 
thing." 

But  it  gave  Hastings  food  for  thought.  Was 
Mrs.  Brace  in  communication  with  Jarvis?  And 
did  Crown  know  that?  Was  it  possible  that 
Crown  wanted  to  find  out  whether  Hastings 
was  having  Jarvis  shadowed?  How  much  of  a 
fool  was  the  woman  making  of  the  sheriff,  any- 
way? 

Another  thing  puzzled  him:  why  did  Mrs. 
Brace  suspect  Arthur  Sloane  of  withholding  the 
true  story  of  what  he  had  seen  the  night  of 
the  murder?  Hastings'  suspicion,  amounting  to 
certainty,  came  from  his  knowledge  that  the 


206  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

man's  own  daughter  thought  him  deeply  in- 
volved in  the  crime.  But  Mrs.  Brace — was  she 
clever  enough  to  make  that  deduction  from  the 
known  facts?  Or  did  she  have  more  direct  in- 
formation from  Sloanehurst  than  he  had  thought 
possible? 

He  decided  not  to  leave  the  sheriff  entirely 
subject  to  her  schemes  and  suggestions.  He 
would  give  Mr.  Crown  something  along  another 
line — a  brake,  as  it  were,  on  impulsive 
action. 

"You  talk  about  arresting  Webster  right 
away — or  Sloane,"  he  began,  suddenly  confiding. 
"  You  wouldn't  want  to  make  a  mistake — would 
you?  " 

Crown  rose  to  that.  "Why?  What  do  you 
know — specially?  " 

"Well,  not  so  much,  maybe.  But  it's  worth 
thinking  about.  I'll  give  you  the  facts — confi- 
dentially, of  course. — Hub  Hill's  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  from  this  house,  on  the  road  to 
Washington.  When  automobiles  sink  into  it 
hub-deep,  they  come  out  with  a  lot  of  mud  on 
their  wheels — black,  loamy  mud.  Ain't  any 
other  mud  like  that  Hub  Hill  mud  anywhere 
near  here.  It's  just  special  and  peculiar  to  Hub 
Hill.  That  so?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Crown,  absorbed. 

"All  right.     How,  then,  did  Eugene  Russell 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       207 

keep  black,  Hub  Hill  mud  on  his  shoes  that 
night  if  he  went  the  four  miles  on  foot  to  where 
Otis  picked  him  up?" 

"Eh?"  said  Crown,  chin  fallen. 

"  By  the  time  he'd  run  four  miles,  his  shoes 
would  have  been  covered  with  the  red  mud  of 
that  mile  of  '  dirt  road '  or  the  thin,  grey  mud 
of  the  three  miles  of  pike — wouldn't  they? 
They'd  have  thrown  off  that  Hub  Hill  mud 
pretty  quick,  wouldn't  they?  " 

"Thunder!"  marvelled  Crown.  "That's 
right !  And  those  shoes  were  in  his  room ;  I  saw 
'em."  He  gurgled,  far  back  in  his  throat.  "  Say! 
How  did  he  get  from  Hub  Hill  to  where  Otis 
picked  him  up?  " 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  declared  Hastings,  very 
bland.  "How?" 

To  Lucille,  after  Crown's  departure,  the  de- 
tective declared  his  intention  to  "  stand  by  "  her, 
to  stay  on  the  case.  He  repeated  his  statement 
of  yesterday:  he  suspected  too  much,  and  knew 
too  little,  to  give  it  up. 

He  told  her  of  the  responsibility  he  had  as- 
sumed in  giving  the  sheriff  the  fictitious  Sloane 
statement.  "  That  is,  it's  not  fictitious,  in  itself ; 
it's  what  your  father  has  been  saying.  But  I 
told  Crown,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  the  newspaper 
men,  that  he  says  it's  all  he  knows,  really.  And 
I  hate  to  do  it — because,  honestly,  Miss  Sloane, 


208  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

I  don't  think  it  is  all.  I'm  afraid  he's  deceiving 
us." 

She  did  not  contradict  that;  it  was  her  own 
opinion. 

"  However,"  the  old  man  made  excuse,  "  I  had 
to  do  it — in  view  of  things  as  they  are.  And 
he's  got  to  stick  to  it,  now  that  I've  made  it 
'official,'  so  to  speak.  Do  you  think  he  will?" 

She  did  not  see  why  not.  She  would  explain 
to  him  the  importance,  the  necessity,  of  that 
course. 

"  He's  so  mistaken  in  what  he's  doing ! "  she 
said.  "  I  don't  understand  him — really.  You 
know  how  devoted  to  me  he  is.  He  called  me 
into  his  room  again  an  hour  or  two  ago  and 
tried  to  comfort  me.  He  said  he  had  reason  to 
know  everything  would  come  out  as  it  should. 
But  he  looked  so — so  uncertain ! — Oh,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, who  did  kill  that  woman?" 

"  I  think  I'll  be  able  to  prove  who  did  it- 
let's  see,"  he  spoke  with  a  light  cheerfulness,  and 
at  the  same  time  with  sincerity;  "I'll  be  able 
to  prove  it  in  less  than  a  week  after  Mrs.  Brace 
takes  that  money  from  you." 

She  said  nothing  to  that,  and  he  leaned  for- 
ward sharply,  peering  at  her  face,  illegible  to 
him  in  the  darkness  of  the  verandah. 

"  So  much  depends  on  that,  on  you,"  he  added. 
"  You  won't  fail  me — tomorrow?  " 


IN  AKTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       209 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  she  said,  earnestly,  strug- 
gling against  depression. 

"  She  must  take  that  money,"  he  declared  with 
great  emphasis.  "She  must!" 

"And  you  think  she  will?" 

"  Miss  Sloane,  I  know  she  will,"  he  said,  a 
fatherly  encouragement  in  his  voice.  "  I'm  sel- 
dom mistaken  in  people;  and  I  know  I've  judged 
this  woman  correctly.  Money's  her  weakness. 
Love  of  it  has  destroyed  her  already.  Offering 
this  bribe  to  anybody  else  situated  as  she  is 
would  be  ridiculous — but  she — she'll  take 
it." 

Lucille  sat  a  long  time  on  the  verandah  after 
Hastings  had  gone.  She  was  far  more  depressed 
than  he  had  suspected;  she  had  to  endure  so 
much,  she  thought — the  suspense,  which  grew 
heavier  as  time  went  by;  the  notoriety;  Berne 
Webster  still  in  danger  of  his  life;  her  father's 
inexplicable  pose  of  indifference  toward  every- 
thing; the  suspicions  of  the  newspapers  and 
the  public  of  both  her  father  and  Berne; 
and  the  waiting,  waiting,  waiting — for 
what? 

A  little  moan  escaped  her. 

What  if  Mrs.  Brace  did  take  the  marked 
money?  What  would  that  show?  That  she  was 
acting  with  criminal  intent,  Hastings  had  said. 
But  he  had  another  and  more  definite  object 


210  "NO  CLUE!" 

in  urging  her  to  this  undertaking;  he  expected 
from  it  a  vital  development  which  he  had  not 
explained — she  was  sure.  She  worried  with  that 
idea. 

Her  confidence  in  Hastings  had  been  without 
qualification.  But  what  was  he  doing?  Any- 
thing? Judge  Wilton  was  forever  saying, 
"Trust  Hastings;  he's  the  man  for  this  case." 
And  that  was  his  reputation;  people  declared 
that,  if  anybody  could  get  to  the  bottom  of  all 
this  mystery,  he  could.  Yet,  two  whole  days 
had  passed  since  the  murder,  and  he  had  just 
said  another  week  might  be  required  to  work 
out  his  plan  of  detection — whatever  that  plan 
was. 

Another  week  of  this !  She  put  her  hot  palms 
to  her  hotter  temples,  striving  for  clarity  of 
thought.  But  she  was  dazed  by  her  terror — 
her  isolated  terror,  for  some  of  her  thoughts 
were  such  that  she  could  share  them  with  no- 
body— not  even  Hastings. 

"  If  the  sheriff  makes  no  arrest  within  the 
next  few  days,  I'll  be  out  of  the  woods,"  he 
had  told  her.  "  Delay  is  what  I  want." 

There,  again,  was  discouragement,  for  here 
was -the  sheriff  threatening  to  serve  a  warrant 
on  Berne  within  the  next  twenty-four  hours! 
She  had  heard  Crown  make  the  threat,  and  to 
her  it  had  seemed  absolutely  final:  unless  her 


IN  ARTHUR  SLOANE'S  ROOM       211 

father  revealed  something  which  Crown  wanted, 
whether  her  father  knew  it  or  not,  Berne  was 
to  be  subjected  to  this  humiliation,  this  added 
blow  to  his  chance  for  recovery! 

She  sprang  up,  throwing  her  hands  wide  and 
staring  blindly  at  the  stars. 

The  woman  whom  she  was  to  bribe  cast  a 
deep  shadow  on  her  imagination.  Sharing  the 
feeling  of  many  others,  she  had  reached  the 
reluctant  conclusion  that  Mrs.  Brace  in  some 
way  knew  more  than  anybody  else  about  the 
murder  and  its  motives.  It  was,  she  told  her- 
self, a  horrid  feeling,  and  without  reason.  But 
she  could  not  shake  it  off.  To  her,  Mrs.  Brace 
was  a  figure  of  sinister  power,  an  agent  of 
ugliness,  waiting  to  do  evil — waiting  for 
what?  " 

By  a  great  effort,  she  steadied  her  jangled 
nerves.  Hastings  was  counting  on  her.  And 
work — even  work  in  the  dark — was  preferable 
to  this  idleness,  this  everlasting  summing-up  of 
frightful  possibilities  without  a  ray  of  hope. 
She  would  do  her  best  to  make  that  woman  take 
the  money ! 

Tomorrow  she  would  be  of  real  service  to 
Berne  Webster — she  would  atone,  in  some  small 
measure,  for  the  sorrow  she  had  brought  upon 
him,  discarding  him  because  of  empty  gossip! 
— Would  he  continue  to  love  her? — Perhaps,  if 


212  "  NO  CLUE ! " 

she  had  not  discarded  him,  Mildred  Brace  would 
not  have  been  murdered. 

A  groan  escaped  her.    She  fled  into  the  house, 
away  from  her  thoughts. 


XVI 

THE   BRIBE 

IT  was  nine  o'clock  the  following  evening 
when  Lucille  Sloane,  sure  that  she  had  en- 
tered the  Walman  unobserved,  rang  the  bell 
of  Mrs.  Brace's  apartment.  Her  body  felt  re- 
markably light  and  facile,  as  if  she  moved  in 
a  tenuous,  half-real  atmosphere.  There  were 
moments  when  she  had  the  sensation  of  floating. 
Her  brain  worked  with  extraordinary  rapidity. 
She  was  conscious  of  an  unusually  resourceful 
intelligence,  and  performed  a  series  of  mental 
gymnastics,  framing  in  advance  the  sentences 
she  would  use  in  the  interview  confronting  her. 
The  constant  thought  at  the  back  of  her  brain 
was  that  she  would  succeed;  she  would  speak 
and  act  in  such  a  way  that  Mrs.  Brace  would 
take  the  money.  She  was  buoyed  by  a  fierce 
determination  to  be  repaid  for  all  the  suspense, 
all  the  agony  of  heart,  that  had  weighed  her 
down  throughout  this  long,  leaden-footed  day 
— the  past  twenty-four  hours  unproductive  of  a 
single  enlightening  incident. 

213 


214  "NO  CLUE!" 

Mrs.  Brace  opened  the  door  and,  with  a 
scarcely  perceptible  nod  of  the  head,  motioned 
her  into  the  living  room.  Neither  of  them 
spoke  until  they  had  seated  themselves  on  the 
chairs  by  the  window.  Even  then,  the  silence 
was  prolonged,  until  Lucille  realized  that  her 
tongue  was  dry  and  uncomfortably  large  for 
her  mouth.  An  access  of  trembling  shook  her. 
She  tried  to  smile  and  knew  that  her  lips  were 
twisting  in  a  ghastly  grin. 

Mrs.  Brace  moved  slowly  to  and  fro  on  the 
armless  rocker,  her  swift,  appraising  eyes  tak- 
ing in  her  visitor's  distress.  The  smooth  face 
wore  its  customary,  inexpressive  calm.  Lucille, 
striving  desperately  to  arrive  at  some  opinion 
of  what  the  woman  thought,  saw  that  she  might 
as  well  try  to  find  emotion  in  a  statue. 

"  I—I,"  the  girl  finally  attained  a  quick,  flur- 
ried utterance,  "want  to  thank  you  for — for 
having  this — this  talk  with  me." 

"What  do  you  want  to  talk  about,  Miss 
Sloane?  " 

The  low,  metallic  voice  was  neither  friendly 
nor  hostile.  It  expressed,  more  than  anything 
else,  a  sardonic,  bullying  self-sufficiency. 

It  both  angered  and  encouraged  Lucille.  She 
perceived  the  futility  of  polite,  introductory 
phrases  here;  she  could  go  straight  to  her  pur- 
pose, be  brutally  frank.  She  gave  Mrs.  Brace 


THE  BRIBE  215 

a  brilliant,  disarming  smile,  a  proclamation  of 
fellowship.  Her  confidence  was  restored. 

"  I'm  sure  we  can  talk  sensibly  together,  Mrs. 
Brace,"  she  explained,  dissembling  her  indigna- 
tion. "  We  can  get  down  to  business,  at  once." 

"  What  business?  "  inquired  the  older  woman, 
with  some  of  the  manner  Hastings  had  seen,  an 
air  of  lying  in  wait. 

"  I  said,  on  the  'phone,  it  was  something  of 
advantage  to  you — didn't  I?" 

"  Yes ;  you  said  that." 

"  And,  of  course,  I  want  something  from  you." 

«  Naturally." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is."  Lucille  spoke  now 
with  cool  precision,  as  yet  untouched  by  the 
horror  she  had  expected  to  feel.  "  It's  a  matter 
of  money." 

Mrs.  Brace's  tongue  came  out  to  the  edge  of 
the  thin  line  of  her  lips.  Her  nostrils  quivered, 
once,  to  the  sharply  indrawn  breath.  Her  eyes 
were  more  furtive. 

"  Money?  "  she  echoed.    "  For  what?  " 

"  There's  no  good  of  my  making  long  explana- 
tions, Mrs.  Brace,"  Lucille  said.  "  I've  read  the 
newspapers,  every  line  of  them,  about — our  trou- 
ble. And  I  saw  the  references  to  your  finances, 
your  lack  of  money." 

"  Yes?  "  Mrs.  Brace's  right  hand  lay  on  her 
lap;  the  thumb  of  it  began  to  move  against  the 


216  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

forefinger  rapidly,  the  motion  a  woman  makes 
in  feeling  the  texture  of  cloth — or  the  trick  of 
a  bank  clerk  separating  paper  money. 

"  Yes.  I  read,  also,  what  you  said  about  the 
tragedy.  Today  I  noticed  that  the  only  note  of 
newness  in  the  articles  in  the  papers  came  from 
you — from  your  saying  that '  in  a  few  days,  three 
or  four  at  the  outside  ' — that  was  your  language, 
I'm  quite  sure — you'd  produce  evidence  on  which 
an  arrest  would  be  made.  I've  intelligence 
enough  to  see  that  the  public?s  interest  in  you 
is  so  great,  the  sympathy  for  you  is  so  great, 
that  your  threats — I  mean,  predictions,  or  opin- 
ions— colour  everything  that's  written  by  the  re- 
porters. You  see?  " 

"Do  I  see  what?" 

Despite  her  excellent  pose  of  waiting  with 
nothing  more  than  a  polite  interest,  Lucille  saw 
in  her  a  pronounced  alteration.  That  was  not 
so  much  in  her  face  as  in  her  body.  Her  limbs 
had  a  look  of  rigidity. 

"Don't  you  see  what  I  mean?"  Lucille  in- 
sisted. "  I  see  that  you  can  make  endless  trou- 
ble for  us-^-for  all  of  us  at  Sloanehurst.  You 
can  make  people  believe  Mr.  Webster  guilty,  and 
that  father  and  I  are  shielding  him.  People 
listen  to  what  you  say.  They  seem  to  be  on 
your  side." 

"Well?" 


THE  BRIBE  217 

"  I  wondered  if  you  wouldn't  stop  your  in- 
terviews— your  accusations?  " 

The  younger  woman's  eagerness,  evident  now 
in  the  variety  of  her  gestures  and  the  rapid  pro- 
cession of  pallour  and  flush  across  her  cheeks, 
persuaded  Mrs.  Brace  that  Lucille  was  acting 
on  an  impulse  of  her  own,  not  as  an  agent  to 
carry  out  another's  well  designed  scheme.  The 
older  woman,  at  that  idea,  felt  safe.  She  asked : 

"  And  you  want — what?  " 

"  I've  come  here  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  all  you 
know,  or  to  be  quiet  altogether." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand — fully,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Brace,  with  an  exaggerated  bewil- 
derment. "Tell  all  I  know?" 

"  That  is,  if  you  do  know  anything  you  haven't 
told !  "  Lucille  urged  her.  "  Oh,  don't  you  see? 
I'm  saying  to  you  that  I  want  to  put  an  end  to 
this  dreadful  suspense !  " 

Mrs.  Brace  laughed  disagreeably;  her  face 
was  harder,  less  human.  "  You  mean  I'm  amus- 
ing myself,  exerting  myself  needlessly,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  spite?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that?  " 

"  No !  No !  "  Lucille  denied,  impatient  with 
herself  for  lack  of  clearness.  "  I  mean  I'm  sure 
you're  attacking  an  innocent  man.  And  I'm 
willing,  I'm  anxious — oh,  I  hope  so  much,  Mrs. 
Brace — to  make  an  agreement  with  you — a  finan- 
cial arrangement "  She  paused  the  frac- 


218  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

tional  part  of  a  second  on  that ;  and,  seeing  that 
the  other  did  not  resent  the  term,  she  added: 
"  to  pay  you  to  stop  it.  Isn't  that  clear?  " 

"  Yes ;  that's  clear." 

"  Understand  me,  please.  What  I  ask  is  that 
you  say  nothing  more  to  the  reporters,  the  sheriff 
or  the  Washington  police,  that  will  have  the 
effect  of  hounding  them  on  against  Mr.  Webster. 
I  want  to  eliminate  from  the  situation  all  the 
influence  you've  exerted  to  make  Mr.  Crown  be- 
lieve Mr.  Webster's  guilty  and  my  father's  pro- 
tecting him." 

"  Let  me  think,"  Mrs.  Brace  said,  coolly. 

Lucille  exulted  inwardly,  "  She'll  do  it !  She'U 
do  it !  "  The  hard  eyes  dissected  her  eager  face. 
The  girl  drew  back  in  her  chair,  thinking  now: 
"  She  suspects  who  sent  me !  " 

At  last,  the  older  woman  spoke: 

"  The  detective,  Hastings,  would  never  have 
allowed  you  to  come  here,  Miss  Sloane. — Excuse 
my  frankness,"  she  interjected,  with  a  smile 
she  meant  to  be  friendly ;  "  but  you're  frank  with 
me;  we're  not  mincing  matters;  and  I  have  to 
be  careful. — He'd  have  warned  you  that  your 
errand's  practical  confession  of  your  knowledge 
of  something  incriminating  Berne  Webster.  If 
you  didn't  suspect  the  man  even  more  strongly 
than  I  do,  you'd  never  have  been  driven  to — 
this." 


THE  BRIBE  219 

She  leaned  the  rocker  back  and  crossed  her 
knees,  the  movement  throwing  into  high  relief 
the  hard  lankness  of  her  figure.  She  gazed  at 
the  wall,  over  Lucille's  head,  as  she  dealt  with 
the  possibilities  that  presented  themselves  to 
her  analysis.  Her  manner  was  that  of  a  certain 
gloating  enjoyment,  a  thinly  covered,  semi-or- 
derly greediness. 

"  She's  not  even  thinking  of  her  daughter," 
Lucille  thought,  and  went  pale  a  moment. 
"  She's  as  bad  as  Mr.  Hastings  said — worse !  " 

"  Then,  too,"  Mrs.  Brace  continued,  "  your 
father  discharged  him  last  night." 

Lucille  remembered  the  detective's  misgivings 
about  Jarvis;  how  else  had  this  woman  found 
that  out? 

"And  you've  taken  matters  into  your  own 
hands. — Did  your  father  send  you  here — to 
me?  " 

"Why,  no!" 

The  other  smiled  slyly,  the  tip  of  her  tongue 
again  visible,  her  eyebrows  high  in  interroga- 
tion. "Of  course,"  she  said;  "you  wouldn't 
tell  me  if  he  had.  He  would  have  warned  you 
against  that  admission." 

"  It's  Mr.  Webster  about  whom  I  am  most 
concerned,"  Lucille  reminded,  sharpness  in  her 
vibrant  young  voice.  "  My  father's  being  an- 
noyed is  merely  incidental." 


220  "NO  CLUE!" 

"Oh,  of  course!  Of  course,"  Mrs.  Brace 
grinned,  with  broad  sarcasm. 

Lucille  started.  The  meaning  of  that  could 
not  be  misunderstood;  she  charged  that  the 
money  was  offered  at  Arthur  Sloane's  instiga- 
tion and  that  the  concern  for  Berne  Webster 
was  merely  pretence. 

Mrs.  Brace  saw  her  anger,  and  placated  it: 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Miss  Sloane.  A  woman 
who's  had  to  endure  what  I  have — well,  she 
doesn't  always  think  clearly." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Lucille  assented ;  but  she  was 
aware  of  a  sudden  longing  to  be  done  with  the 
degrading  work.  "  Now  that  we  understand 
each  other,  Mrs.  Brace,  what  do  you  say?  " 

Mrs.  Brace  thought  again. 

"  How  much? "  she  asked  at  last,  her  lips 
thickening.  "  How  much,  Miss  Sloane,  do  you 
think  my  silence  is  worth?  " 

Lucille  took  a  roll  of  bills  from  her  handbag. 
The  woman's  chair  slid  forward,  answering  to 
the  forward-leaning  weight  of  her  new  posture. 
She  was  lightly  rubbing  her  palms  together,  as, 
with  head  a  little  bowed,  she  stared  at  the  money 
in  the  younger  woman's  hand. 

"I  have  here  five  hundred  dollars,"  Lucille 
began. 

"What!" 

Mrs.  Brace  said  that  roughly ;  and,  in  violent 


THE  BRIBE  221 

anger,  drew  back,  the  legs  of  her  chair  grating 
on  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  Lucille  gazed  at  her,  uncom- 
prehending. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  uncertainly.  "  You  mean — 
it  isn't  enough?  " 

"  Enough !  "  Mrs.  Brace's  rage  and  disap- 
pointment grew,  her  lowered  brows  a  straight 
line  close  down  to  her  eyes. 

"  But  I  could  get  more ! "  Lucille  exclaimed, 
struggling  with  disgust.  "  This,"  she  added, 
with  ready  invention,  "  can  serve  as  a  part  pay- 
ment, a  promise  of " 

"  Ah-h ! "  the  older  woman  exclaimed. 
"  That's  different.  I  misunderstood." 

She  put  down  the  signals  of  her  wrath,  suc- 
ceeding in  that  readjustment  so  promptly  that 
Lucille  stared  at  her  in  undisguised  amazement. 

"You  must  pardon  me,  Miss  Sloane.  I 
thought  you  were  making  me  the  victim  of  your 
ridicule,  some  heartless  joke." 

"  Then,  we  can  come  to  an  agreement?  That 
is,  if  this  money  is  the  first " 

She  broke  the  sentence.  Mrs.  Brace  had  put 
up  her  hand,  and  now  held  her  head  to  one  side, 
listening. 

There  was  a  step  clearly  audible  outside,  in 
the  main  hall.  The  next  moment  the  doorbell 
rang.  They  sat  motionless.  When  the  bell 


222  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

rang  again,  Mrs.  Brace  informed  her  with  a  look 
that  she  would  not  answer  it. 

But  the  ringing  continued,  became  a  pro- 
longed jangle.  It  got  on  Lucille's  already 
strained  nerves. 

"  Suppose  you  slip  into  the  bedroom,"  Mrs. 
Brace  whispered. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  Lucille  whispered  back. 

She  was  weighed  down  by  black  premonition ; 
she  hoped  Mrs.  Brace  would  not  open  the  door. 

The  bell  rang  again. 

"You'll  have  to!"  Mrs.  Brace  said  at  last. 
"  I  won't  let  anybody  in.  I  have  to  answer  it!  " 

"  You'll  send  them  away — whoever  it  is — at 
once?  " 

"  At  once.  I  don't  want  you  seen  here,  any 
more  than  you  want  to  be  seen ! " 

Lucille  started  toward  the  bedroom.  At  the 
first  step  she  took,  Mrs.  Brace  put  a  hand  on 
her  arm. 

"  That  money !  "  she  demanded,  in  a  low  whis- 
per. "  I'll  take  it.'J 

"And  do  what  I  asked — stop  attacking  us?" 

"Yes.     Yes!" 

Lucille  gave  her  the  money. 

There  were  no  lights  in  the  bedroom.  Lucille, 
for  fear  of  stumbling  or  making  a  noise,  stood 
to  one  side  of  the  door-frame,  close  to  the  wall. 

Mrs.   Brace's  footsteps  stopped.     There  was 


THE  BRIBE  223 

the   click   of   the  opening   door.     Then,   there 
came  to  Lucille  the  high-pitched,  querulous  voice 
which  she  had  been  afraid  she  would  hear. 
It  was  her  father's. 


XVII 

"  THE    WHOLE    TRUTH  " 


"A  >TRS-    BRACE>   g°od   evening.—  May   I 
IY/1    come  in?  " 

Then  followed  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, and  the  closing  of  the  door. 

"  I  shan't  detain  you  long,  Mrs.  Brace."  They 
were  still  in  the  hall.  "  May  I  come  in?  " 

"  Certainly/'  The  tardy  assent  was  the  per- 
fection of  indifference. 

They  entered  the  living  room.  Lucille,  with- 
out using  her  eyes,  knew  that  her  father  was 
standing  just  within  the  doorway,  glancing 
around  with  his  slight  squint,  working  his  lips 
nervously,  his  head  thrust  forward. 

"Ah-h!"  his  shrill  drawl,  although  he  kept 
it  low,  carried  back  to  Lucille.  "  All  alone  — 
may  I  ask?  "  He  went  toward  the  chairs  by 
the  window.  "  That  is,  I  hope  to  have  —  well  — 
rather  a  confidential  little  talk  with  you." 

Mrs.  Brace  resumed  her  place  on  the  armless 
rocker  after  she  had  moved  a  chair  forward  for 
him.  Lucille  heard  it  grate  on  the  floor.  Cer- 
tain that  he  had  taken  it,  she  looked  into  the 

224 


"  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH  "  225 

room.  Her  intuition  was  correct;  Mrs.  Brace 
had  placed  it  so  that  his  back  was  turned  to 
both  the  bedroom  door  and  the  door  into  the 
entry.  This  made  her  escape  possible. 

The  relief  she  got  from  the  thought  was  of 
a  violent  nature.  It  came  to  her  like  a  blow, 
almost  forcing  a  gasp  from  her  constricted 
throat.  If  she  could  tiptoe  without  sound  a  dis- 
tance of  eighteen  feet,  a  matter  of  six  or  seven 
steps,  she  could  leave  the  apartment  without 
his  knowledge. 

To  that  she  was  doubly  urged.  In  the  first 
place,  Hastings'  warning  drummed  upon  her 
brain ;  he  had  specified  the  importance  of  keep- 
ing even  her  father  in  ignorance  of  her  errand. 

Upon  that  came  another  reason  for  flight,  her 
fear  of  hearing  what  her  father  would  say.  A 
wave  of  nausea  weakened  her.  She  bowed  down, 
there  in  the  dark,  under  the  burden  of  her  sus- 
picion: he  had  come  to  do,  for  quite  a  different 
reason,  what  she  had  done!  She  kept  away  from 
definite  analysis  of  his  motive.  Fear  for  Berne, 
or  fear  for  himself,  it  was  equally  horrible  to 
her  consideration.  , 

"  I  admire  your  spirit,  Mrs.  Brace,"  he  was 
saying,  in  ingratiating  tone;  "  and  your  shrewd- 
ness. I've  followed  all  you  said,  in  the  papers. 
And  I'm  in  hopes  that  we  may " 

He  stopped,  and  Lucille,  judging  from  the  thin 


226  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

edges  of  sounds  that  she  caught,  had  a  mental 
picture  of  his  peering  over  his  shoulder.  He  re- 
sumed: 

"  I  must  apologize,  I'm  sure.  But  you'll  real- 
ize my  concern  for  secrecy — after  I've  explained. 
May  I — ah-h-h — do  you  mind  if  I  look  about,  for 
possible  hearers?  " 

"  It's  unnecessary,"  came  the  calm,  metallic 
assurance.  "  I've  no  objection  to  your  search- 
ing my  apartment,  if  you  insist."  She  laughed, 
a  mirthless  deprecation  of  his  timidity,  and 
coolly  put  herself  at  his  disposal  in  another 
sentence:  "I've  sense  enough  to  form  an  idea 
of  what  you'll  propose;  and  I'd  scarcely  want 
others  to  hear  it — would  I?" 

"  Ah-h-h !  "  he  drawled,  expressing  a  grudging 
disposition  to  accept  her  assurance.  "  Certainly 
not. — Well,  that's  very  reasonable — and  oblig- 
ing, I'm  sure." 

Again  by  the  thin  fringes  of  sound,  Lucille 
got  information  of  his  settling  into  his  chair. 

"  Why,"  he  began ;  "  why,  in  the  name  of  all 
the  unfathomable,  inscrutable  angels " 

"  First,  Mr.  Sloane,"  Mrs.  Brace  interrupted 
him — and  Lucille  heard  the  rattle  of  a  neVs- 
paper ;  "  as  a  preface  to  our — shall  we  say  con- 
ference?— our  conference,  then,  let  me  read  you 
this  summary  of  my  position. — That  is,  if  you 
care  to  understand  my  position  thoroughly." 


"  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH  "  227 

She  was  far  from  her  habitual  quietness,  rat- 
tling the  newspaper  incessantly.  The  noise,  Lu- 
cille realized,  would  hang  as  a  curtain  between 
her  father's  ears  and  the  possible  sounds  of 
her  progress  from  the  bedroom  door  to  the 
entry. 

Stealing  a  glance  into  the  living  room,  she 
saw  his  back  and,  over  his  stooped  shoulders, 
Mrs.  Brace's  calm  face.  In  that  instant,  the 
newspaper  shook  more  violently — enough,  she 
thought,  to  signal  cooperation. 

She  sickened  again  at  sight  of  that  woman 
about  to  dispense  bought  favours  to  her  father. 
The  impulse  to  step  forth  and  proclaim  her 
presence  rose  strongly  within  her;  but  she  was 
turned  from  it  by  fear  that  her  interruption 
might  produce  disastrous  results.  After  all,  she 
was  not  certain  of  his  intention. 

She  knew,  however,  that  at  any  moment  he 
might  insist  on  satisfying  himself,  by  a  tour 
of  inspection,  that  he  was  safe  from  being  over- 
heard. She  hesitated  no  longer.  She  would  try 
to  get  away. 

"  Look  at  this,  Mr.  Sloane,  if  you  please," 
Mrs.  Brace  was  saying ;  "  notice  how  the  items 
are  made  to  stand  out,  each  in  a  paragraph  of 
large  type." 

She  held  the  paper  so  that  Sloane  -bent  for- 
ward, and,  against  his  will,  was  held  to  joint 


228  "NO  CLUE!" 

perusal  while  she  read  aloud.  The  curtain  of 
protecting  noise  thus  was  thickened. 

" '  That  Mrs.  Brace  has  knowledge  of  the  fol- 
lowing facts/  "  the  harsh,  colourless  voice  was 
reading. 

Lucille  began  her  escape.  She  moved  with  an 
agony  of  precaution,  taking  steps  only  a  few 
inches  long,  her  arms  held  out  from  her  sides 
to  avoid  unnecessary  rustling  of  her  clothing. 
She  went  on  the  balls  of  her  feet,  keeping  the 
heels  of  her  shoes  always  free  of  the  floor,  each 
step  a  slow  torture. 

Her  breathing  stopped — a  hysterical  con- 
traction of  her  chest  prevented  breathing.  Her 
face  burned  like  fire.  Her  head  felt  crowded, 
as  if  the  blood  tried  to  ooze  through  the  con- 
fining scalp.  There  was  a  gre^t  roaring  in  her 
ears.  The  pulse  in  her  temples  was  like  the 
blows  of  sledges. 

Once,  midway  of  the  distance,  as  she  stood 
lightly  balanced,  with  arms  outstretched,  some- 
thing went  wrong  with  her  equilibrium.  She 
started  forward  as  she  had  often  done  when  a 
child,  with  the  sensation  of  falling  on  her  face. 
Her  skirt  billowed  out  in  front  of  her.  If  she 
had  had  any  breath  in  her,  she  would  have  cried 
out. 

But  the  automatisms  of  her  body  worked  bet- 
ter than  her  overtaxed  brain.  Her  right  foot 


"  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH  "  229 

went  out  easily  and  softly — she  marvelled  at 
that  independent  motion  of  her  leg — and,  taking 
up  the  falling  weight  of  her  body,  restored  her 
balance. 

Mrs.  Brace's  voice  had  not  faltered,  although 
she  must  have  seen  the  misstep.  Arthur  Sloane's 
bowed  shoulders  had  not  stirred.  Mrs.  Brace 
continued  the  printed  enumeration  of  her  stores 
of  knowledge. 

Lucille  took  another  step.  She  was  safe ! — al- 
most. There  remained  but  a  yard  of  her  pain- 
ful progress.  One  more  step,  she  comforted  her- 
self, would  put  her  on  the  threshold  of  the  entry 
door,  and  from  there  to  the  corridor  door, 
shielded  by  the  entry  wall  from  possible  observa- 
tion by  her  father,  would  be  an  easy  busi- 
ness. 

She  completed  that  last  step.  On  the  thresh- 
old, she  had  to  turn  her  body  through  an  arc 
of  ninety  degress,  unless  she  backed  out  of  the 
door.  This  she  was  afraid  to  do ;  her  heel  might 
meet  an  obstruction;  a  raised  plank  of  the 
flooring,  even,  would  mean  an  alarming 
noise. 

She  began  to  turn.  The  reading  continued. 
The  whole  journey  from  door  to  door,  in  spite 
of  the  anguished  care  of  every  step,  had  con- 
sumed scarcely  a  minute.  She  was  turning,  the 
balancing  arms  outstretched.  Deep  down  in  her 


230  "NO  CLUE!" 

chest  there  was  the  beginning  of  a  sensation, 
muscles  relaxing,  the  promise  of  a  long  breath 
of  relief. 

Her  left  hand — or,  perhaps,  her  elbow ;  in  the 
blinding,  benumbing  flash  of  consternation,  she 
did  not  know  which — touched  the  pile  of  maga- 
zines on  the  table  that  was  set  against  the  door- 
frame. The  magazines  did  not  fall  to  the  floor, 
but  the  fluttering  of  the  loose  cover  of  the  one 
on  top  made  a  noise. 

She  fled,  taking  with  her  the  flashing  memory 
of  the  first  stirring  of  her  father's  figure  and 
the  crackle  of  the  paper  in  Mrs.  Brace's  hand. 
In  two  light  steps  she  was  at  the  corridor  door. 
Her  hands  found  the  latch  and  turned  it.  She 
ran  down  the  stairs  with  rapid,  skimming  steps, 
the  door  clicking  softly  shut  as  she  made  the 
turn  on  the  next  landing. 

Her  exit  had  been  wonderfully  quiet.  She 
knew  this,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  her  strain- 
ing senses  had  exaggerated  the  flutter  of  the 
magazine  cover  and  the  click  of  the  door  into  a 
terrifying  volume  of  sound.  It  was  entirely  pos- 
sible that  Mrs.  Brace  had  been  able  to  persuade 
her  father  that  he  had  heard  nothing  more  than 
some  outside  noise.  She  was  certain  that  he 
had  not  seen  her. 

She  crossed  the  dim,  narrow  lobby  of  the  Wai- 
man  so  quickly,  and  so  quietly,  that  the  girl 


"THE  WHOLE  TKUTH"  231 

at  the  telephone  board  did  not  look  in  her  direc- 
tion. 

Once  in  the  street,  she  was  seized  by  desire  to 
confide  to  Hastings  the  story  of  her  experience. 
She  decided  to  act  on  the  impulse. 

He  was  at  first  more  concerned  with  her  phys- 
ical condition  than  with  what  she  had  to  tell. 
He  saw  how  near  she  was  to  the  breaking  point. 

"  My  dear  child ! "  he  said,  in  the  tone  of 
fatherly  solicitude  which  she  had  learned  to 
like.  "Comfort  before  conference!  Here,  this 
chair  by  the  window — so — and  this  wreck  of  a 
fan,  can  you  use  it?  Fine!  Now,  cool  your 
flushed  face  in  this  thin,  very  thin  stream  of 
a  breeze — feel  it?  A  glass  of  water? — just  for 
the  tinkling  of  ice?  That's  better,  isn't  it?  " 

The  only  light  in  the  room  was  the  reading 
lamp,  under  a  dark-green  shade,  and  from  this 
little  island  of  illumination  there  ran  out  a 
chaotic  sea  of  shadows,  huge  waves  of  them, 
mounting  the  height  of  the  book-shelves  and 
breaking  irregularly  on  the  ceiling. 

In  the  dimness,  as  he  walked  back  and  forth 
hunting  for  the  fan  or  bringing  her  the  water, 
he  looked  weirdly  large — like,  she  thought  dully, 
a  fairy  giant  curiously  draped.  But  the  serenity 
of  his  expression  touched  her.  She  was  glad 
she  had  come. 


232  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

While  she  told  her  story,  he  stood  in  front 
of  her,  encouraging  her  with  a  smile  or  a  nod 
now  and  then,  or  ambled  with  soft  step  among 
the  shadows,  always  keeping  his  eyes  upon  her. 
For  the  moment,  her  tired  spirit  was  freshened 
by  his  lavish  praise  of  the  manner  in  which  she 
had  accomplished  her  undertaking.  Following 
that,  his  ready  sympathy  made  it  easier  for  her 
to  discuss  her  fear  that  her  father  had  planned 
to  bribe  Mrs.  Brace. 

Nevertheless,  the  effort  taxed  her  severely. 
At  the  end  of  it,  she  leaned  back  and  closed 
her  eyes,  only  to  open  them  with  a  start  of  fright 
at  the  resultant  dizziness.  The  sensation  of  bod- 
ily lightness  had  left  her.  Her  limbs  felt 
sheathed  in  metal.  An  acute,  throbbing  pain 
racked  her  head.  She  was  too  weary  to  combat 
the  depression  which  was  like  a  cold,  freezing 
hand  at  her  heart. 

"You  don't  say  anything!"  she  complained 
weakly. 

He  stood  near  her  chair,  gazing  thoughtfully 
before  him. 

"  I'm  trying  to  understand  it,"  he  said ;  "  why 
your  father  did  that.  You're  right,  of  course. 
He  went  there  to  pay  her  to  keep  quiet.  But 
why?  " 

He  looked  at  her  closely. 

"Could  it  be  possible,"  he  put  the  inquiry 


"  THE  WHOLE  TKUTH  "  233 

at  last,  "  that  he  knew  her  before  the  murder?  " 

"  I've  asked  him,"  she  said.  "  No ;  he  never 
had  heard  of  her — neither  he  nor  Judge  Wilton. 
I  even  persuaded  him  to  question  Jarvis  about 
that.  It  was  the  same;  Jarvis  never  had — until 
last  Sunday  morning." 

"  You  think  of  everything !  "  he  congratulated 
her. 

"No!    Oh,  no!" 

Some  quick  and  overmastering  emotion  broke 
down  the  last  of  her  endurance.  Whether  it  was 
a  new  and  finer  appreciation  of  his  persistent, 
untiring  search  for  the  guilty  man,  or  the  re- 
alization of  how  sincerely  he  liked  her,  giving 
her  credit  for  a  frankness  she  had  not  exer- 
cised— whatever  the  pivotal  consideration  was, 
she  felt  that  she  could  no  longer  deceive  him. 

She  closed  her  lips  tightly,  to  keep  back  the 
rising  sobs,  and  regarded  him  with  questioning, 
fearful  eyes. 

"  WThat  is  it?  "  he  asked  gently,  reading  her 
appealing  look. 

"  I've  a  confession  to  make,"  she  said  miser- 
ably. 

He  refused  to  treat  it  as  a  tragedy. 

"  But  it  can't  be  very  bad !  "  he  exclaimed 
pleasantly.  "  When  we're  overwrought,  imagi- 
nation's like  a  lantern  swinging  in  the  wind, 
changing  the  size  of  everything  every  second." 


234  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  But  it  is  bad ! "  she  insisted.  "  I  haven't 
been  fair.  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  tell  you 
this.  I  tried  to  think  you'd  get  along  without 
it!" 

"And  now?" 

She  answered  him  with  an  outward  calmness 
which  was,  in  reality,  emotional  dullness.  She 
had  suffered  so  much  that  to  feel  vividly  was 
beyond  her  strength. 

"  You  have  the  right  to  know  it,"  she  said, 
looking  at  him  out  of  brilliant,  unwinking 
eyes.  "  It's  about  father.  He  was  out  there 
— on  the  lawn — before  he  turned  on  the  light 
in  his  room.  I  heard  him  come  in,  a  minute 
before  Berne  went  down  the  back  stairs  and  out 
to  the  lawn.  And  I  heard  him  go  to  his  window 
and  stand  there,  looking  out,  at  least  five  long 
minutes  before  he  flashed  on  his  light." 

He  waited,  thinking  she  might  have  more  to 
tell.  Construing  his  silence  as  reproof,  she  said, 
without  changing  either  her  expression  or  her 
voice : 

"  I  know — it's  awful.  I  should  have  told  you. 
Perhaps,  I've  done  great  harm." 

"  You've  been  very  brave,"  he  consoled  her, 
with  infinite  tenderness.  "  But  it  happens  that 
I'd  already  satisfied  myself  on  that  point.  I 
knew  he'd  been  out  there." 

She  was  dumb,  incapable  of  reacting  to  his 


"  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH  "  235 

words.  Even  the  fact  that  he  was  smiling,  with 
genuine  amusement,  did  not  affect  her. 

"  Here  comes  the  grotesque  element,  the  comi- 
cal, that's  involved  in  so  many  tragedies,"  he 
explained.  "  Your  father's  weakness  for  '  cure ' 
of  nervousness,  and  his  shrinking  from  the  ridi- 
cule he's  suffered  because  of  it — there's  the  ex- 
planation of  why  he  was  out  there  that  night." 

She  could  not  see  significance  in  that,  but 
neither  could  she  summon  energy  to  say  so. 
She  wondered  vaguely  why  he  thought  it  funny. 

"  That  night — rather,  the  early  morning  hours 
following — while  the  rest  of  you  were  in  the 
library,  I  looked  through  his  room,  and  I  found 
a  pair  of  straw  sandals  in  the  closet — such  as 
a  man  could  slip  on  and  off  without  having  to 
bend  down  to  adjust  them.  And  they  were  wet, 
inside  and  out. 

"  Sunday  morning,  when  Judge  Wilton  and  I 
were  at  his  bedside,  I  saw  on  the  table  a  '  quack' 
pamphlet  on  the  '  dew '  treatment  for  nervous- 
ness, the  benefit  of  the  '  wet,  cooling  grass  '  upon 
the  feet  at  night.  You  know  the  kind  of  thing. 
So " 

"  Oh-h-h !  "  she  breathed,  tremulous  and  weak. 
"  So  that's  why  he  was  out  there !  Why  didn't 
I  think?  Oh,  how  I've  suspected  him  of " 

"  But  remember,"  he  warned ;  "  that's  why 
he  went  out.  We  still  don't  know  what  he — 


236  "NO  CLUE!" 

what  happened  after  he  got  out  there — or  why 
he's  refused  to  say  that  he  ever  was  out  there. 
When  we  think  of  this,  and  other  things,  and, 
too,  his  call  tonight  on  Mrs.  Brace,  for  bribery 
— leaving  what  we  thought  was  a  sickbed — — " 

"  But  he's  been  up  all  day !  "  she  corrected. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  and  stopped,  reflecting. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  implored;  "  tell  me,  Mr.  Hast- 
ings, do  you  suspect  my  father — or  not — of 
the ?  " 

He  answered  her  unfinished  question  with  a 
solemn,  painstaking  care: 

"  Miss  Sloane,  you're  not  one  who  would  want 
to  be  misled.  You  can  bear  the  truth.  I'd  be 
foolish  to  say  that  he's  not  under  suspicion. 
He  is.  Any  one  of  the  men  there  that  night 
may  have  committed  the  murder.  Webster,  your 
father,  Wilton — only  there,  suspicion  seems  to- 
tally gratuitous — Eugene  Russell,  Jarvis — I've 
heard  things  about  him — any  one  of  them  may 
have  struck  that  blow — may  have." 

"  And  father,"  she  said,  in  a  grieved  bewilder- 
ment, "  has  paid  Mrs.  Brace  to  stop  saying  she 
suspects  Berne,"  she  shuddered,  facing  the  al- 
ternative, "  or  himself !  " 

"  You  see,"  he  framed  the  conclusion  for  her, 
"  how  hard  he  makes  it  for  us  to  keep  him  out 
of  trouble — if  that  gets  out.  He's  put  his  hand 
on  the  live  wire  of  circumstantial  evidence,  a 


"  THE  WHOLE  TRUTH  "  237 

wire  that  too  often  thrashes  about,  striking  the 
wrong  man." 

"And  Berne?"  she  cried  out.  "I  think  I 
could  stand  anything  if  only  I  knew " 

But  this  time  the  mutinous  sobs  came  crowd- 
ing past  her  lips.  She  could  not  finish  the 
inquiry  she  had  begun. 


XVIII 

THE  MAN  WHO  RODE  AWAY 

IT  was  early  in  the  afternoon  of  Wednesday 
when  Mr.  Hastings,  responding  to  the  pro- 
longed ringing  of  his  telephone,  took  the 
receiver  off  the  hook  and  found  himself  in  com- 
munication with  the  sheriff  of  Alexandria 
county.  This  was  not  the  vacillating,  veering 
sheriff  who  had  spent  nearly  four  days  accept- 
ing the  hints  of  a  detective  or  sitting,  chameleon- 
minded,  at  the  feet  of  a  designing  woman.  Here 
was  an  impressive  and  self-appreciative  gentle- 
man, one  who  delighted  in  his  own  deductive 
powers  and  relished  their  results. 

He  said  so.  His  confidence  fairly  rattled  the 
wire.  His  words  annihilated  space  grandly  and 
leaped  into  the  old  man's  receptive  ear  with 
sizzling  and  electric  effect.  Mr.  Crown,  trium- 
phant, was  glad  to  inform  others  thai:  he  was 
making  a  hit  with  himself. 

"Hello!  That  you,  Hastings?  Well,  old  fel- 
low, I  don't  like  to  annoy  you  with  an  up-to- 
date  rendition  of  '  I  told  you  so ! ' — but  it's  come 


THE  MAN  WHO  EODE  AWAY      239 

out,  to  the  last  syllable,  exactly  as  I  said  it 
would — from  the  very  first !  " 

Ensued  a  pause,  for  dramatic  effect.  The  de- 
tective did  not  break  it. 

"Waiting,  are  you?  Well,  here  she  goes; 
Kussell's  alibi's  been  knocked  into  a  thousand 
pieces!  It's  blown  up!  It's  gone  glimmering! 
—What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

Hastings  refrained  from  replying  that  he  had 
regarded  such  an  event  as  highly  probable.  In- 
stead, he  inquired: 

"  And  that  simplifies  things?  " 

"Does  it!"  exploded  Mr.  Crown.  "I'm 
getting  to  you  a  few  minutes  ahead  of  the  after- 
noon, papers.  You'll  see  it  all  there."  An  apol- 
ogetic laugh  came  over  the  wire.  "  You'll 
excuse  me,  I  know;  I  had  to  do  this  thing  up 
right,  put  on  the  finishing  touches  before  you 
even  guessed  what  was  going  on.  I've  wound 
up  the  whole  business.  The  Washington  police 
nabbed  Russell  an  hour  ago,  on  my  orders. 

"'Simplifies  things?'  I  should  say  so!  I 
guess  you  can  call  'em  '  simplified '  when  a  mur- 
der's been  committed  and  the  murderer's  wait- 
ing to  step  into  my  little  ring-tum-fi-diddle-dee 
of  a  country  jail!  *  No  clue  to  this  mystery/ 
the  papers  have  been  saying!  What's  the  use 
of  a  clue  when  you  know  a  guy's  guilty?  That's 
what  I've  been  whistling  all  along ! " 


240  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  But  the  alibi?  "  Hastings  prompted.  "  You 
say  it's  blown  up?" 

"  Blown !  Gone !  Result  of  my  sending  out 
those  circulars  asking  if  any  automobile  parties 
passed  along  the  Sloanehurst  road  the  murder 
night.  Remember? " 

"Yes."  The  old  man  recalled  having  made 
that  suggestion,  but  did  not  say  so. 

"  This  morning  the  chief  of  police  of  York — 
York,  Pennsylvania — wired  me.  I  got  him  by 
long-distance  right  away.  He  gave  me  the  story, 
details  absolutely  right  and  straight,  all  veri- 
fied— and  everything.  A  York  man,  named 
Stevens,  saw  a  newspaper  account,  for  the  first 
time  this  morning,  of  the  murder.  He  and  four 
other  fellows  were  in  a  car  that  went  up  Hub 
Hill  that  night  a  little  after  eleven — a  few  min- 
utes after.— Hear  that?" 

"  Yes.     Go  on." 

"  Stevens  was  on  the  back  seat.  They  went 
up  the  hill  on  low — terrible  piece  of  road,  he 
calls  it — they  were  no  more  than  crawling.  He 
says  he  was  the  only  sober  man  in  the  crowd — 
been  out  on  a  jollification  tour  of  ten  days.  He 
saw  a  man  slide  on  to  the  running  board  on  his 
side  of  the  car  as  they  were  creeping  up  the 
hill.  The  rest  of  the  party  was  singing,  having 
a  high  old  time. 

"  Stevens  said  he  never  said  a  word,   just 


THE  MAN  WHO  RODE  AWAY      241 

watched  the  guy  on  the  running  board,  and 
planned  to  crack  him  on  the  head  with  an  empty 
beer  bottle  when  they  got  on  the  straight  road 
and  were  hitting  up  a  good  clip — just  playing, 
you  understand. 

"  After  he'd  watched  the  guy  a  while  and  was 
trying  to  fish  up  a  beer  bottle  from  the  bottom 
of  the  car,  the  chauffeur  slowed  down  and  hol- 
lered back  to  him  on  the  back  seat  that  he 
wanted  to  stop  and  look  at  his  radiator — it 
was  about  to  blow  up,  too  hot.  He'd  been 
burning  the  dust  on  that  stretch  of  good 
road. 

"  When  he  slowed  down,  the  guy  on  the  run- 
ning board  slipped  off.  Stevens  says  he  rolled 
down  a  bank." 

The  jubilant  Mr.  Crown  stopped,  for 
breath. 

"That's  all  right,  far  as  it  goes,"  Hastings 
said ;  "  but  does  he  identify  that  man  as  Rus- 
sell? "  , 

"  To  the  last  hair  on  his  head ! "  replied  the 
sheriff.  u  Stevens'  description  of  the  fellow  is 
Russell  all  over — all  over!  Just  to  show  you 
how  good  it  is,  take  this:  Stevens  describe  the 
clothes  Russell  wore,  and  says  what  Otis  said: 
he'd  lost  his  hat." 

"  Stevens  got  a  good  look  at  him?  " 

"  Says  the  headlights  were  full  on  him  as 


242  "NO  CLUE!" 

he  stood  on  one  side  of  the  road,  there  on  Hub 
Hill,  waiting  to  slide  on  the  running  board. — 
And  this  Stevens  is  a  shrewd  guy,  the  York 
chief  says.  I  guess  his  story  plugs  Russell's  lies, 
shoots  that  alibi  so  full  of  holes  it  makes  a  sifter 
look  like  a  piece  of  sheet-iron! 

"  That  car  went  up  Hub  Hill  at  seven  minutes 
past  eleven — that  means  Russell  had  plenty  of 
time  to  kill  the  girl  after  the  rain  stopped  and 
to  get  out  on  the  road  and  slip  on  to  that  run- 
ning board.  And  the  car  slowed  up,  where  he 
rolled  off  the  running  board,  at  eighteen  min- 
utes past  eleven. 

"  Time's  right,  location's  right,  identification's 
right! — Pretty  sweet,  ain't  it,  old  fellow?  Con- 
gratulate me,  don't  you?  Congratulate  me,  even 
if  it  does  step  on  all  those  mysterious  theories 
of  yours — that  right?  " 

Hastings  bestowed  the  desired  felicitations 
upon  the  exuberant  conqueror  of  crime. 

Turning  from  the  telephone,  he  gazed  a  long 
time  at  the  piece  of  grey  envelope  on  the  table 
before  him.  He  had  clung  to  his  belief  that, 
in  those  fragments  of  words,  was  to  be  found 
a  clue  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery.  He  picked 
up  his  knife  and  fell  to  whittling. 

Outside  in  the  street  a  newsboy  set  up  an 
abrupt,  blaring  din,  shouting  sensational  head- 
lines: 


THE  MAN  WHO  EODE  AWAY      243 

"SLOANEHURST  MYSTERY  SOLVED!— 
RUSSELL  THE  MURDERER !— ALIBI  A 
FAKE!" 

The  old  man  considered  grimly,  the  various 
effects  of  this  development  in  the  case — Lucille 
Sloane's  unbounded  relief  mingled  with  censure 
of  him  for  having  added  to  her  fears,  and  es- 
pecially for  having  subjected  her  to  the  ordeal 
of  last  night's  experience  with  Mrs.  Brace — the 
adverse  criticism  from  both  press  and  public  be- 
cause of  his  refusal  to  join  in  the  first  attacks 
upon  Russell,  Arthur  Sloane's  complacency  at 
never  having  treated  him  with  common  courtesy. 

His  thoughts  went  to  Mrs.  Brace  and  her 
blackmail  schemes,  as  he  had  interpreted  or  sus- 
pected them. 

"  If  I'd  had  a  little  more  time,"  he  reflected, 
"  I  might  have  put  my  hand  on " 

His  eyes  rested  on  the  envelope  flap.  His 
mind  flashed  to  another  and  new  idea.  His 
muscles  stiffened ;  he  put  his  hands  on  the  arms 
of  his  chair  and  slowly  lifted  himself  up,  the 
knife  dropping  from  his  fingers  and  clattering 
on  the  floor.  He  stood  erect  and  held  both  hands 
aloft,  a  gesture  of  wide  and  growing  wonder. 

"Gripes!"  he  said  aloud. 

He  picked  up  the  grey  paper  with  a  hand  that 
trembled.  His  pendent  cheeks  puffed  out  like 
those  of  a  man  blowing  a  horn.  He  stared  at 


244  "NO  CLUE!" 

the  paper  again,  before  restoring  it  to  its  en- 
velope, which  he  put  back  into  one  of  his  pockets. 

"  Gripes !  "  he  said  again.  "  It's  a  place!  Pur- 
suit! That's  where  the " 

He  became  a  whirlwind  of  action,  covered  the 
floor  with  springy  step.  Taking  a  book  of  colos- 
sal size  from  a  shelf,  he  whirled  the  pages,  run- 
ning his  finger  down  a  column  while  he  mur- 
mured, "  Pursuit^-P-u-r— P-u— P-u " 

But  there  was  no  such  name  in  the  postal  di- 
rectory. He  went  back  to  older  directories.  He 
began  to  worry.  Was  there  no  such  postoffice 
as  Pursuit?  He  went  to  other  books,  whirling 
the  pages,  running  down  column  after  col- 
umn. And  at  last  he  got  the  information  he 
sought. 

Consulting  a  railroad  folder,  he  found  a  train 
schedule  that  caused  him  to  look  at  his  watch. 

"Twenty-five  minutes,"  he  figured.  "  I'm  go- 
ing!" 

He  telephoned  for  a  cab. 

Then,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  he  tore  a 
sheet  from  a  scratch-pad  and  wrote: 

"Don't  lose  sight  of  Mrs.  Brace.  Disregard 
Russell's  arrest. 

"  Hendricks :  the  Sloanehurst  people  are  mem- 
bers of  the  Arlington  Golf  Club.  Get  a  look  at 
golf  bags  there.  Did  one,  or  two,  contain  piece 
or  pieces  of  a  bed-slat? 


THE  MAN  WHO  RODE  AWAY      245 

"Gore:  check  up  on  Mrs.  B.'s  use  of  money. 

"  I'll  be  back  Sunday." 

He  sealed  the  envelope  into  which  he  put  that, 
and,  addressing  it  to  Hendricks,  left  it  lying  on 
the  table. 

At  the  station  he  bought  the  afternoon  news- 
papers and  turned  to  Eugene  Russell's  state- 
ment, made  to  the  reporters  immediately  after 
his  arrest.  It  ran: 

"  I  repeat  that  I'm  innocent  of  the  murder. 
Of  course,  I  made  a  mistake  in  omitting  all 
mention  of  my  having  ridden  the  first  four  miles 
from  Sloanehurst.  But,  being  innocent  and 
knowing  the  weight  of  the  circumstantial  evi- 
dence against  me,  I  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  make  my  alibi  good.  I  neither  com- 
mitted that  murder  nor  witnessed  it.  The  story 
I  told  at  the  inquest  of  what  happened  to  me 
and  what  I  did  at  Sloanehurst  stands.  It  is  the 
truth." 


XIX 

"  PURSUIT !  " 

RETURNING  from  his  trip  Sunday  morn* 
ing,  the  detective,  after  a  brief  conference 
with  Hendricks,  had  gone  immediately  to 
Mrs.  Brace's  apartment.  She  sat  now,  still  and 
watchful,  on  the  armless  rocker  by  the  window, 
waiting  for  him  to  disclose  the  object  of  his 
visit.  Except  the  lifted,  faintly  interrogating 
eyebrows,  there  was  nothing  in  her  face  indica- 
tive of  what  she  thought. 

He  caught  himself  comparing  her  to  a  statue, 
forever  seated  on  the  low-backed,  uncomfortable 
chair,  awaiting  without  emotion  or  alteration 
of  feature  the  outcome  of  her  evil  scheming. 
Her  hardness  gave  him  the  impression  of  some- 
thing hammered  on,  beaten  into  an  ugly  pattern. 

Having  that  imperturbability  to  overcome,  he 
struck  his  first  blow  with  surprising  directness. 

"  I'm  just  back  from  Pursuit,"  he  said. 

That  was  the  first  speech  by  either  of  them 
since  the  monosyllabic  greeting  at  the  door.  He 
saw  that  she  had  prepared  herself  for  such  an 
announcement;  but  the  way  she  took  it  re- 

246 


"PUKSUIT!"  247 

minded  him  of  a  door  shaken  by  the  impact  of 
a  terrific  blow.  A  little  shiver,  for  all  her  force 
of  repression,  moved  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  are? "  she  responded,  her  voice  con- 
trolled, the  hard  face  untouched  by  the  shock 
to  which  her  body  had  responded. 

"  Yes ;  I  got  back  half  an  hour  ago,  and,  ex- 
cept for  one  of  my  assistants,  you're  the  first 
person  I've  seen."  When  that  drew  no  comment 
from  her,  he  added :  "  I  want  you  to  remember 
that — later  on." 

He  began  to  whittle. 

"  Why? "  she  asked  with  genuine  curiosity, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Because  it  may  be  well  for  you  to  know  that 
I'm  dealing  with  you  alone,  and  fairly. — I  got 
all  the  facts  concerning  you/' 

"  Concerning  me? "  Her  tone  intimated 
doubt. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Brace !  "  he  exclaimed,  disapprov- 
ing her  apparent  intention.  "  You're  surely  not 
going  to  pretend  ignorance — or  innocence !  " 

She  crossed  her  knees,  and,  putting  her  left 
forearm  across  her  body,  rested  her  right  elbow 
in  that  hand.  She  began  to  rock  very  gently, 
her  posture  causing  her  to  lean  forward  and 
giving  her  a  look  of  continual  but  polite  ques- 
tioning. 

"  If  you  want  to  talk  to  me,"  she  said,  her 


248  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

voice  free  of  all  feeling,  "  you'll  have  to  tell  me 
what  it's  about." 

"  All  right;  I  will,"  he  returned.  "  You'll  re- 
member, I  take  it,  my  asking  you  to  tell  me  the 
meaning  of  the  marks  on  the  flap  of  the  grey 
envelope.  I'll  admit  I  was  slow,  criminally  slow, 
in  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  *  Pursuit ! '  re- 
ferred to  a  place  rather  than  an  act.  But  I  got 
it  finally — and  I  found  Pursuit — not  much  left 
of  it  now ;  it's  not  even  a  postoffice. 

"  But  it's  discoverable,"  he  continued  on  a 
sterner  note,  and  began  to  shave  long,  slender 
chips  from  his  block  of  wood.  "  I'll  give  you 
the  high  lights:  young  Dalton  was  killed — his 
murderer  made  a  run  for  it — but  you,  a  young 
widow  then,  in  whose  presence  the  thing  was 
done,  smoothed  matters  out.  You  swore  it  was 
a  matter  of  self-defence.  The  result  was  that, 
after  a  few  half-hearted  attempts  to  locate  the 
fugitive,  the  pursuit  was  given  up." 

"  Very  well.  But  why  bring  that  story  here 
— now?  What's  its  significance?  " 

He  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  Her  thin, 
sensitive  lips  were  drawn  back  at  the  corners, 
enough  to  make  her  mouth  look  a  trifle  wider 
— and  enough  to  suggest  dimly  that  their  motion 
was  the  start  of  a  vindictive  grimace.  Other- 
wise, she  was  unmoved,  unresponsive  to  the  open 
threat  of  what  he  had  said. 


"PURSUIT!"  249 

"  Let  me  finish,"  he  retorted.  "  An  unfortu- 
nate feature,  for  you,  was  that  you  seemed  to 
have  made  money  out  of  the  tragedy.  In  strait- 
ened circumstances  previously,  you  began  to 
spend  freely — comparatively  speaking — a  few 
days  after  the  murderer's  disappearance.  In 
fact,  bribery  was  hinted;  you  had  to  leave  the 
village.  See  any  significance  in  that?  "  he  con- 
cluded, with  irony. 

"  Suppose  you  explain  it,"  she  said,  still  cool. 

"  The  significance  is  in  the  strengthening  of 
the  theory  I've  had  throughout  the  whole  week 
that's  passed  since  your  daughter  was  killed  at 
Sloanehurst." 

"  What's  that?  " 

She  stopped  rocking;  her  eyes  played  a  fiery 
tattoo  on  every  feature  of  his  face. 

"  Your  daughter's  death  was  the  unexpected 
result  of  your  attempts  to  blackmail  young  Dai- 
ton's  murderer.  You,  being  afraid  of  him,  and 
not  confessing  that  timidity  to  Mildred,  per- 
suaded her  to  approach  him — in  person." 

"  I !  Afraid  of  him !  "  she  objected,  aroused 
at  last. 

Her  brows  were  lowered,  a  heavy  line  above 
her  furtive,  swift  eyes;  her  nostrils  fluttered 
nervously. 

"Granting  your  absurd  theory,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  why  should  I  have  feared  him?  What 


250  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

had  he  done — except  strike  to  save  his  own 
life?  " 

"  You  forget,  Mrs.  Brace,"  he  corrected. 
"  That  body  showed  twenty-nine  wounds,  twenty- 
eight  of  them  unnecessary — if  the  first  was  in- 
flicted in  mere  self-defence.  It  was  horrible 
mutilation." 

"  So ! "  she  ridiculed,  with  obvious  effort. 
"  You  picture  him  as  a  butcher." 

"  Precisely.  And  you,  having  seen  to  what 
lengths  his  murderous  fury  could  take  him,  were 
afraid  to  face  him — even  after  your  long,  long 
search  had  located  him  again.  Let's  be  sensible, 
Mrs.  Brace.  Let's  give  the  facts  of  this  business 
a  hearing. 

"  You  had  come  to  Washington  and  located 
him  at  last.  But,  after  receiving  several  de- 
mands from  you,  he'd  stopped  reading  your  let- 
ters— sent  them  back  unopened.  Consequently, 
in  order  for  you  to  make  an  appointment  with 
him,  he  had  to  be  communicated  with  in  a  hand- 
writing he  didn't  know.  Hence,  your  daugh- 
ter had  to  write  the  letter  making  that  ap- 
pointment a  week  ago  last  night.  Then,  how- 
ever  " 

"What  makes  you  think " 

"Then,  however,"  he  concluded,  overbearing 
her  with  his  voice,  "you  hadn't  the  courage  to 
face  him — out  there,  in  the  dark,  alone.  You 


"PUKSUIT!"  251 

persuaded  Mildred  to  go — in  your  place.  And 
he  killed  her." 

"Ha!"  The  mocking  exclamation  sounded 
as  though  it  had  been  pounded  out  of  her  by 
a  blow  upon  her  back.  "  What  makes  you  say 
that?  Where  do  you  get  that?  Who  put  that 
into  your  head?  " 

She  volleyed  those  questions  at  him  with  in- 
describable rapidity,  her  lips  drawn  back  from 
her  teeth,  her  brows  straining  far  up  toward 
the  line  of  her  hair.  The  profound  disgust  with 
which  he  viewed  her  did  not  affect  her.  She 
darted  to  and  fro  in  her  mind,  running  about 
in  the  waste  and  tumult  of  her  momentary  con- 
fusion, seeking  the  best  thing  to  say,  the  best 
policy  to  adopt,  for  her  own  ends. 

He  had  had  time  to  determine  that  much  when 
her  gift  of  self-possession  reasserted  itself.  She 
forced  her  lips  back  to  their  thin  line,  and 
steadied  herself.  He  could  see  the  vibrant  taut- 
ness  of  her  whole  body,  exemplified  in  the  rigid- 
ity with  which  she  held  her  crossed  knees,  one 
crushed  upon  the  other. 

"  I  know,  I  think,  what  misled  you,"  she  an* 
swered  her  own  question.  "  You've  talked  to 
Gene  Russell,  of  course.  He  may  have  heard — 
I  think  he  did  hear — Mildred  and  me  discussing 
the  mailing  of  a  letter  that  Friday  night." 

"He  did,"  Hastings  said,  firmly. 


252  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  But  he  couldn't  have  heard  anything  to  war- 
rant your  theory,  Mr.  Hastings.  I  merely  made 
fun  of  her  wavering  after  she'd  once  said  she'd 
confront  Berne  Webster  again  with  her  appeal 
for  fair  play." 

He  inspected  her  with  an  emotion  that  was 
a  mingling  of  incredulity  and  repugnant  won- 
der. 

"  It's  no  use,  Mrs.  Brace,"  he  told  her.  "  Rus- 
sell didn't  see  the  name  of  the  man  to  whom  the 
letter  was  addressed.  I  saw  him  last  Sunday 
afternoon.  He  told  me  he  took  the  name  for 
granted,  because  Mildred  had  taunted  him,  say- 
ing it  went  to  Webster.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  wanted  to  see  if  Webster  was  at  Sloanehurst 
and  fastened  his  eyes  for  a  fleeting  glimpse  on 
that  word — and  on  that  alone.  Besides,  there 
are  facts  to  prove  that  the  letter  did  not  go  to 
Webster. — Do  you  see  how  your  fancied  secur- 
ity falls  away?  " 

u  Let  me  think,"  she  said,  her  tone  flat  and 
impersonal. 

She  was  silent,  her  restless  eyes  gazing  at 
the  wall  over  his  head.  He  watched  her,  and 
glanced  only  at  intervals  at  the  wood  he  was 
aimlessly  shaving. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  after  a  while,  looking 
at  him  with  a  speculative,  deliberating  air, 
"you've  deduced  and  pieced  this  together. 


"PURSUIT!"  253 

You've  a  woman's  intuition — comprehension  of 
motives,  feelings." 

She  was  silent  again. 

"  Pieced  what  together?  "  he  asked. 

"  It's  plain  enough,  isn't  it?  You  began  with 
your  suspicion  that  my  need  of  money  was 
heavier  in  my  mind  than  grief  at  Mildred's 
death.  On  that,  you  built  up — well,  all  you've 
just  said." 

"  It  was  mote  than  a  suspicion,"  he  corrected. 
"  It  was  knowledge — that  everything  you  did, 
after  her  death,  was  intended  to  help  along  your 
scheme  to — we'll  say,  to  get  money." 

"  Still,"  she  persisted  shrewdly,  "  you  felt  the 
necessity  of  proving  I'd  blackmail — if  that's  the 
word  you  want  to  use." 

"How?"  he  put  in  quickly.  "Prove  it, 
how?" 

"  That's  why  you  sent  that  girl  here  with  the 
five  hundred.  I  see  it  now;  although,  at  the 
time,  I  didn't."  She  laughed,  a  short,  bitter 
note.  "  Perhaps,  the  money,  or  my  need  of  it, 
kept  me  from  thinking  straight." 

"  Well?  " 

"  Of  course,"  she  made  the  admission  calmly, 
"  as  soon  as  I  took  the  hush  money,  your  theory 
seemed  sound — the  whole  of  it :  my  motives  and 
identity  of  the  murderer." 

She  was  thinking  with  a  concentration  so  in- 


254  "NO  CLUE!" 

tense  that  the  signs  of  it  resembled  physical  ex- 
ertion. Moisture  beaded  the  upper  part  of  her 
forehead.  He  could  see  the  muscles  of  her  face 
respond  to  the  locking  of  her  jaws. 

"  But  there's  nothing  against  me,"  she  began 
again,  and,  moved  by  his  expression,  qualified: 
"  nothing  that  I  can  be  held  for,  in  the 
courts." 

"  You've  decided  that,  have  you?  " 
«  You'll  admit  it,"  she  said.  "  There's  noth- 
ing— there  can  be  nothing — to  disprove  my  state- 
ment that  Dalton's  death  was  provoked.  I  hold 
the  key  to  that — I  alone.  That  being  true,  I 
couldn't  be  prosecuted  in  Pursuit  as  '  accessory 
after  the  fact.' " 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed.  «  That's  true." 
"  And  here,"  she  concluded,  without  a  hint  of 
triumph,  even  without  a  special  show  of  interest, 
"  I  can't  be  proceeded  against  for  blackmail. 
That  money,  from  both  of  them,  was  a  gift.  I 
hadn't  asked  for  it,  much  less  demanded  it.  I," 
she  said  with  an  assured  arrogance,  "hadn't  got 
that  far. — So,  you  see,  Mr.  Hastings,  I'm  far 
from  frightened." 

He  found  nothing  to  say  to  that  shameless 
but  unassailable  declaration.  Also,  he  was 
aware  that  she  entertained,  and  sought  solution 
of,  a  problem,  the  question  of  how  best  to  satisfy 
her  implacable  determination  to  make  the  man 


"PURSUIT!"  255 

pay.  That  purpose  occupied  all  her  mind,  now 
that  her  money  greed  was  frustrated. 

It  was  on  this  that  he  had  calculated.  It  ex- 
plained his  going  to  her  before  confronting  the 
murderer.  He  had  felt  certain  that  her  per- 
verted desire  to  "  get  even  "  would  force  her 
into  the  strange  position  of  helping  him. 

He  broke  the  silence  with  a  careful  attempt 
to  guide  her  thoughts: 

"  But  don't  fool  yourself,  Mrs.  Brace.  You've 
got  out  of  this  all  you'll  ever  get,  financially — 
every  cent.  And  you're  in  an  unpleasant  sit- 
uation— an  outcast,  perhaps.  People  don't 
stand  for  your  line  of  stuff,  your  behav- 
iour." 

She  did  not  resent  that.  Making  a  desperate 
mental  search  for  the  best  way  to  serve  her 
hard  self-interest,  he  thought,  she  was  imper- 
vious to  insult. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  to  his  immense  relief. 
"  I've  been  considering  the  only  remaining 
point." 

"What's  that?" 

"  The  sure  way  to  make  him  suffer  as  hor- 
ribly as  possible." 

He  pretended  absorption  in  his  carving. 

"Why  shouldn't  he  have  provided  me  with 
money  when  I  asked  it? "  she  demanded,  at 
last. 


256  "NO  CLUE!" 

The  new  quality  of  her  speech  brought  his 
head  up  with  a  jerk.  Instead  of  colourless 
harshness,  it  had  a  warm  fury.  It  was  not  that 
she  spoke  loudly  or  on  a  high  key;  but  it  had 
an  unbridled,  self-indulgent  sound.  He  got  the 
impression  that  she  put  off  all  censorship  from 
either  her  feeling  or  her  expression. 

"  That  wasn't  much  to  ask — as  long  as  he  con- 
tinued his  life  of  ease,  of  luxury,  of  safety — as 
long  as  I  left  out  of  consideration  the  debt  he 
couldn't  pay,  the  debt  that  was  impossible  of 
payment." 

Alien  as  the  thing  seemed  in  connection  with 
her,  he  grasped  it.  She  thought  that  she  had 
once  loved  the  man. 

"The  matter  of  personal  feeling?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes.  When  he  left  Pursuit,  he  destroyed 
the  better  part  of  me — what  you  would  call  the 
good  part." 

She  said  that  without  sentimentalism,  with- 
out making  it  a  plea  for  sympathy ;  she  had  bet- 
ter sense,  he  saw,  than  to  imagine  that  she  could 
arouse  sympathy  on  that  ground. 

"  And,"  she  continued,  with  intense  malignity, 
"  what  was  so  monstrous  in  my  asking  him  for 
money?  I  asked  him  for  no  payment  of  what 
he  really  owes  me.  That's  a  debt  he  can't  pay ! 
My  beauty,  destroyed,  withered  and  covered  over 


"PURSUIT!"  257 

with  the  hard  mask  of  the  features  you  see  now ; 
my  capacity  for  happiness,  dead,  swallowed  up 
in  my  long,  long  devotion  to  my  purpose  to  find 
him  again — those  things,  man  as  you  are,  you 
realize  are  beyond  the  scope  of  payment  or  re- 
payment ! " 

Without  rising  to  a  standing  position,  she 
leaned  so  far  forward  that  her  weight  was  all 
on  her  feet,  and,  although  her  figure  retained 
the  posture  of  one  seated  on  a  chair,  she  was 
in  fact  independent  of  support  from  it,  and 
held  herself  crouching  in  front  of  him, 
taut,  a  tremor  in  her  limbs  because  of  the 
strain. 

Her  hands  were  held  out  toward  him,  the  tips 
of  her  stiffened,  half-closed  fingers  less  than  a 
foot  from  his  face.  Her  brows  were  drawn  so 
high  that  the  skin  of  her  forehead  twitched,  as 
if  pulled  upward  by  another's  hand.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  he  compelled  himself  to  wit- 
ness the  climax  of  her  rage.  Only  his  need  of 
what  she  knew  kept  him  still. 

"  Money ! "  she  said,  her  lean  arms  in  con- 
tinual motion  before  him.  "  You're  right,  there. 
I  wanted  money.  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  have 
it.  It  was  such  a  purpose  of  mine,  so  strongly 
grown  into  my  whole  being,  that  even  Mildred's 
death  couldn't  lessen  or  dislodge  it.  And  there 
was  more  than  the  want  of  money  in  my  never 


258  "NO  CLUE!" 

letting  loose  of  my  intention  to  find  him.  He 
couldn't  strip  me  bare  and  get  away!  You've 
understood  me  pretty  well.  You  know  it  was 
written,  on  the  books,  that  he  and  I  should  come 
together  again — no  matter  how  far  he  went,  or 
how  cleverly! 

"  And  I  see  now !  "  she  gave  him  her  decision, 
and,  as  she  did  so,  rose  to  an  upright  position, 
her  hands  at  her  sides  going  half-shut  and  open, 
half-shut  and  open,  as  if  she  made  mental  pic- 
tures of  the  closing  in  of  her  long  pursuit.  "  I'll 
say  what  you  want  me  to  say.  Confront  him ; 
put  me  face  to  face  with  him,  and  I'll  say  the 
letter  went  to  him.  Oh,  never  fear!  I'll  say 
the  appropriate  thing,  and  the  convincing  thing 
— appropriately  convincing !  " 

Her  eyes  glittered,  countering  his  searching 
glance,  as  she  stood  over  him,  her  body  flung 
a  little  forward  from  the  waist,  her  arms 
busy  with  their  quick,  angular  gesticula- 
tion. 

"When?"  he  asked.  "When  will  you  do 
that?  " 

"Now,"  she  answered  instantly.  "Now! — 
"  Now! — Oh,  don't  look  surprised.  I've  thought 
of  this  possibility.  My  God ! "  she  said  with  a 
bitterness  that  startled  him.  "I've  thought  of 
every  possibility,  every  possible  crook  and  quirk 
of  this  business." 


"  PURSUIT !  "  259 

She  was  struck  by  his  slowness  in  responding 
to  her  offer. 

"  But  you,"  she  asked ;  "  are  you  sure — have 
you  the  proof?" 

"Thanks,"  he  said  drily.  "You  needn't  be 
uneasy  about  that. — Now,  if  I  may  do  a  little  tel- 
ephoning, we'll  start." 

He  went  a  step  from  her  and  turned 
back. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  stipulated,  "  that  little  mat- 
ter of  the  five  hundred — you  needn't  refer  to  it. 
I  mean  it  will  have  to  be  left  out.  It's  not  neces- 
sary." 

"  No;  it  isn't,"  she  agreed,  with  perfect  indif- 
ference. "And  it's  spent." 

When  he  had  telephoned  to  Sloanehurst  and 
the  sheriff's  office,  he  found  her  with  her  hat 
on,  ready  to  accompany  him. 

As  they  stepped  out  of  the  Walman,  she  saw 
the  automobile  waiting  for  them.  She  stopped, 
a  new  rage  darting  from  her  eyes.  He  thought 
she  would  go  back.  After  a  brief  hesitation, 
however,  she  gave  a  short,  ugly  laugh. 

"  You  were  as  sure  as  that,  were  you ! "  she 
belittled  herself.  "Had  the  car  wait— to  take 
me  there ! " 

"  By  no  means,"  he  denied.  "  I  hoped  you'd 
go— that's  all." 

"That's  better,"  she  said,  determined  to  as- 


260  "NO  CLUE!" 

sert  her  individuality  of  action.  "  You're  not 
forcing  me  into  this,  you  know.  I'm  doing  it, 
after  thinking  it  out  to  the  last  detail — for  my 
own  satisfaction." 


XX 

DENIAL  OP  THE  CHARGB 

HASTINGS,  fully  appreciating  the  value 
of  surprise,  had  instructed  Mrs.  Brace 
to  communicate  none  of  the  new  devel- 
opments to  anybody  until  he  asked  for  them. 
Reaching  Sloanehurst,  he  went  alone  to  the 
library,  leaving  her  in  the  parlour  to  battle  as 
best  she  might  with  the  sheriff's  anxious  curi- 
osity. 

Arthur  Sloane  and  Judge  Wilton  gave  him 
cool  welcome,  parading  for  his  benefit  an  obvious 
and  insolent  boredom.  Although  uninvited  to 
sit  down,  he  caught  up  a  chair  and  swung  it 
lightly  into  such  position  that,  when  he  seated 
himself,  he  faced  them  across  the  table.  He 
was  smiling,  enough  to  indicate  a  general  sat- 
isfaction with  the  world. 

There  was  in  his  bearing,  however,  that  which 
carried  them  back  to  their  midnight  session  with 
him  immediately  following  the  discovery  of  Mil- 
dred Brace's  body.  The  smile  did  not  lessen 
his  look  of  unquestionable  power;  his  words 
were  sharp,  clipped-off. 

261 


262  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  I  take  it,"  he  said  briskly,  untouched  by 
their  demeanour  of  indifference,  "you  gentle- 
men will  be  interested  in  the  fact  that  I've 
cleared  up  this  mystery." 

"  Ah-h-h !  "  drawled  Sloane.    "  Again?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  again '?  "  he  asked, 
good-naturedly. 

"  Crown,  the  sheriff,  accomplished  it  four  days 
ago,  I'm  credibly  informed." 

"  He  made  a  mistake." 

"Ah?"  Sloane  ridiculed. 

"  Yes.  '  Ah ! '  "  Hastings  took  him  up  curtly, 
and,  with  a  quick  turn  of  his  head,  addressed 
himself  to  Wilton:  "Judge,  I've  been  to  Pur- 
suit." 

When  he  said  that,  his  head  was  thrown  back 
so  that  he  squinted  at  Wilton  down  the  line  of 
his  nose,  under  the  rims  of  his  spectacles. 

"Pursuit!" 

Wilton's  echo  of  the  word  was  explosive.  He 
had  been  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  eying  the 
detective  from  under  lowered  lids,  and  drawing 
deep,  prolonged  puffs  from  his  cigar.  But,  with 
the  response  to  Hastings'  announcement,  he  sat 
up  and  leaned  forward,  putting  his  elbows  on 
the  rim  of  the  table.  It  was  an  awkward  atti- 
tude, compelling  him  to  extend  his  neck  and 
turn  his  face  upward  in  order  to  meet  the  other's 
glance. 


DENIAL  OP  THE  CHARGE          263 

"  Yes,"  Hastings  said,  after  a  measurable 
pause.  "Interested  in  that?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  Wilton  replied,  plainly  alarmed, 
and  fubbed  out  his  cigar  with  forefinger  and 
thumb,  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  he  dropped  a 
little  shower  of  fire  on  the  table  cover. 

"  I'll  trouble  you  to  observe,  Mr.  Sloane," 
Hastings  put  in,  "  that,  being  excited,  the 
judge's  first  impulse  is  to  extinguish  his  cigar: 
it's  a  habit  of  his. — Now,  judge,  in  Pursuit  I 
heard  a  lot  about  you — a  lot." 

"All  right— what?" 

He  made  the  inquiry  reluctantly,  as  if  under 
compulsion  of  the  detective's  glance. 

"  The  Dalton  case — and  your  part  in  it." 

"  You  know  about  that,  do  you?  " 

"  All  about  it,"  Hastings  said,  in  a  way  that 
made  doubt  impossible;  Sloane,  even,  bewildered 
as  he  was,  got  the  impression  of  his  ruthless 
certainty. 

Wilton  did  not  contest  it. 

"  I  struck  in  self-defence,"  he  excused  himself 
wearily,  like  a  man  taking  up  a  task  against  his 
will.  "  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  call  that  mur- 
der. No  jury  would  have  convicted  me — none 
would  now,  if  given  the  truth." 

"  But  the  body  showed  twenty-nine  wounds," 
Hastings  pressed  him,  "the  marks  of  twenty- 
nine  separate  thrusts  of  that  knife." 


264  "NO  CLUE!" 

"Yes;  that's  true.— Yes,  I'll  tell  you  about 
that,  you  and  Arthur — if  you'd  care  to  hear?  " 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,"  Hastings  said, 
settling  in  his  chair.  He  was  thinking :  "  He 
didn't  expect  this.  He's  unprepared !  " 

Sloane,  who  had  been  on  the  point  of  resent- 
ing this  unbelievable  attack  on  his  friend,  was 
struck  dumb  by  Wilton's  calm  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  charge.  From  long  habit,  he  took 
the  cap  off  the  smelling-salts  with  which  he 
had  been  toying  when  Hastings  came  in,  but 
his  shaking  hand  could  not  lift  the  bottle  to  his 
nose.  Wilton  guilty  of  a  murder,  years  ago! 
He  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath  and  huddled 
in  his  chair. 

Wilton  rose  clumsily  and  walked  heavily  to 
the  door  opening  into  the  hall.  He  put  his  hand 
on  the  knob  but  did  not  turn  it.  He  repeated 
the  performance  at  the  door  opening  into 
Sloane's  room.  In  all  this  he  was  unconsciona- 
bly slow,  moving  in  the  manner  of  a  blind  man, 
feeling  his  way  about  and  fumbling  both  knobs. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  table,  his  shoulders 
were  hunched  to  the  front  and  downward, 
crowding  his  chest.  His  face  looked  larger,  each 
separate  feature  of  it  throbbing  coarsely  to  the 
pumping  of  his  heart.  Pink  threads  stood  out 
on  the  white  of  his  eyeballs.  When  the  back 
of  his  neck  pressed  against  his  collar,  the  effect 


DENIAL  OF  THE  CHARGE          265 

was  to  give  the  lower  half  of  the  back  of  his 
head  an  odd  appearance  of  inflation  or  puffi- 


Hastings  had  never  seen  a  man  struggle  so 
to  contain  himself. 

"  Suffering  angels ! "  Sloane  sympathized 
shrilly.  "  What's  the  matter,  Tom?  " 

"All  right— it's  all  right,"  he  assured,  his 
voice  still  low,  but  so  resonant  and  harsh  that 
it  sounded  like  the  thrumming  of  a  viol  string. 

He  seated  himself,  moving  his  chair  several 
times,  adjusting  it  to  a  proper  angle  to  the  table. 
In  the  end,  he  sat  close  to  the  table  rim,  hunched 
heavily  on  his  elbows,  and  looked  straight  at 
Hastings. 

"  But,  since  you've  been  to  Pursuit,  what  do 
you  imply,  or  say?  "  he  asked,  the  words  scrap- 
ing, as  though  his  throat  had  been  roughened 
with  a  file. 

"That  you  killed  Mildred  Brace,"  Hastings 
answered,  also  leaning  forward,  to  give  the  accu- 
sation weight. 

"I!  I  killed  her! "  Wilton's  teeth  went  to- 
gether with  a  sharp  click ;  the  table  sagged  under 
his  weight.  "  I  deny  it.  I  deny  it !  "  He  ripped 
out  an  oath.  "  This  man's  crazy,  Arthur!  He's 
dragged  up  a  mistake,  a  tragedy,  of  my  youth, 
and  now  has  the  effrontery  to  use  it  as  a  reason 
for  suspecting  me  of  murder !  " 


266  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Exactly !  "  chimed  Sloane,  in  tremulous  re- 
lief. "  Shivering  saints !  Why  haven't  you  said 
so  long  ago,  Tom?" 

"  I  didn't  give  him  credit  for  the  wild  insan- 
ity he's  showing,"  said  Wilton  thickly. 

Whatever  had  been  his  first  impulse,  however 
near  he  had  been  to  trying  to  explain  away  all 
blame  in  the  Dalton  murder,  it  was  clear  to 
Hastings  now  that  he  intended  to  rely  on  flat 
denial  of  his  connection  with  the  death  of  Mil- 
dred Brace.  He  had,  perhaps,  decided  that  ex- 
planation was  too  difficult. 

Seeing  his  indecision,  Hastings  turned  on 
Sloane. 

"  You've  been  exceedingly  offensive  to  me  on 
several  occasions,  Mr.  Sloane.  And  I've  had 
enough  of  it.  Now,  I've  got  the  facts  to  show 
that  you're  as  foolish  in  the  selection  of  your 
friends  as  in  making  enemies.  I'm  about  to 
charge  this  man  Wilton  with  murder.  He  killed 
Mildred  Brace,  and  I  can  prove  it.  If  you  want 
to  hear  the  facts  back  of  this  mystery;  if  you 
want  the  stuff  that  will  enable  you  to  decide 
whether  you'll  stand  by  him  or  against  him,  you 
can  have  it ! " 

Before  Sloane  could  recover  from  his  surprise 
at  the  old  man's  hot  resentment,  Wilton  said, 
with  an  air  of  careless  contempt: 

"Oh,  we've  got  to  deal  with  what  he  says, 


DENIAL  OF  THE  CHARGE          267 

Arthur.  I'd  rather  answer  it  here  than  with  an 
audience." 

"  The  reading  public,  for  instance?  "  Hastings 
retorted,  and  added :  "  It  may  interest  you,  Mr. 
Sloane,  to  know  that  you  gave  me  my  first  sus- 
picion of  him.  When  you  stepped  back  from 
the  handkerchief  I  held  out  to  you — remember, 
as  I  was  kneeling  over  the  body,  and  the  servant 
laughed  at  you? — I  jammed  it  into  Wilton's 
right-hand  coat-pocket. 

"  Later,  when  I  got  it  back  from  him,  I  saw 
clinging  to  it  a  few  cigar  ashes  and  two  small 
particles  of  wet  tobacco.  He  had  had  in  that 
pocket  a  cigar  stump  wet  from  his  saliva. 

11  When  he  began  then  his  story  of  finding  the 
body,  he  said,  '  I'd  been  smoking  my  good-night 
cigar;  this  is  what's  left  of  it.'  As  he  said  that, 
he  pointed  to  the  unlit — remember  that,  unlit — 
cigar  stump  between  his  teeth.  He  made  it  a 
point  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  so  little  time 
had  elapsed  between  his  finding  the  body  and 
his  giving  the  alarm  that  he  hadn't  smoked  up 
the  cigar,  and  also  he  hadn't  taken  time  to  put 
his  hand  to  his  mouth,  take  out  the  cigar  and 
throw  it  away. 

"  It  was  one  of  the  over-fine  little  touches  that 
a  guilty  man  tries  to  pile  on  his  scheme  for 
appearing  innocent.  But  what  are  the  facts? 

"  Just  now,  as  soon  as  he  got  excited,  he  me- 


268  "NO  CLUE!" 

chanically  fubbed  out  his  cigar.  It's  a  habit  of 
his — whenever  he's  in  a  close  corner.  He  did 
it  during  the  interview  I  had  with  him  and 
Webster  in  the  music  room  last  Sunday  morning 
« — when,  in  fact,  something  dangerous  to  him 
came  up.  He  did  it  again  when  I  was  talking 
to  him  in  his  office,  following  a  visit  from  Mrs. 
Brace. 

"  There  you  have  the  beginning  of  my  sus- 
picion. Why  had  he  gone  out  of  his  way  to  put 
a  cigar  stump  into  his  pocket  that  night,  and 
to  explain  that  he  had  had  it  in  his  mouth  all 
the  time?  When  he  came  into  my  room,  to  wake 
me  up,  he  had  no  cigar  in  his  mouth.  But, 
when  you  and  I  rounded  the  corner  of  the  porch 
and  first  saw  him  kneeling  over  the  body,  he 
had  one  hand  in  his  right-hand  coat-pocket. 
And,  when  we  stood  beside  him,  he  had  put  a 
half-smoked,  unlit  cigar  into  his  mouth. 

"  You  see  my  point,  clearly?  Instead  of  hav- 
ing had  the  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  having  kept 
it  there  while  he  found  the  body  and  reported 
the  discovery  to  us,  the  truth  is  this:  he  had 
fubbed  out  the  cigar  when  he  met  Mildred  Brace 
on  the  lawn,  and  it  had  occurred  to  his  calculat- 
ing mind  that  it  would  be  well,  when  he  chose 
to  give  the  alarm,  to  use  the  cigar  stunt  as  evi- 
dence that  he  hadn't  been  engaged  in  quarrelling 
with  and  murdering  a  woman. 


DENIAL  OF  THE  CHARGE          269 

"  He  was  right  in  his  opinion  that  the  average 
man  doesn't  go  on  calmly  smoking  while  en- 
gaged in  such  activities.  He  was  wrong  in  let- 
ting us  discover  where  he'd  carried  the  stump 
until  he  needed  it. 

"  He  had  put  it  into  that  pocket,  but,  after 
committing  the  murder,  he  wasn't  quite  as  calm 
as  he'd  expected  to  be — something  had  gone 
wrong;  Webster  had  appeared  on  the  scene — 
and  the  cigar  wasn't  restored  to  his  mouth  until 
you  and  I  first  reached  the  body. 

"  Here's  my  handkerchief,  showing  the  ashes 
and  the  pieces  of  cigar  tobacco  on  it,  just  as 
it  was  when  he  handed  it  back  to  me." 

He  took  from  one  of  his  pockets  a  tissue-paper 
parcel,  and,  unwrapping  it,  handed  it  to  Sloane. 

"Ah-h-h — that's  what  it  shows,"  Sloane  ad- 
mitted, bending  over  the  handkerchief. 

Wilton  welcomed  that  with  a  laugh  which  he 
meant  to  be  lightly  contemptuous. 

"  See  here,  Arthur!  "  he  objected.  "  I'm  per- 
fectly willing  to  listen  to  any  sane  statement 
this  man  may  make,  but " 

"You  said  you  wanted  to  hear  this!"  Hast- 
ing stopped  him.  "  I'm  fair  about  it.  I've  told 
you  why  I  began  to  watch  you.  I've  got 
more." 

"  You  need  it,"  Sloane  complained.  "  If  it's 
all  that  thin " 


270  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Don't  shout  too  soon,"  Hastings  interrupted 
again.  "  Mr.  Sloane,  this  man's  been  working 
against  me  from  the  start.  Think  a  moment, 
and  you'll  realize  it.  While  he  was  telling  your 
daughter  and  a  whole  lot  of  other  people  that 
I  was  the  only  man  to  handle  the  case,  he  was 
slipping  you  the  quiet  instruction  to  avoid  me, 
not  to  confide  in  me,  not  to  tell  me  a  single 
thing.  Isn't  that  true?" 

"  We-ell,  he  did  say  the  best  way  for  me  to 
avoid  all  possibility  of  being  involved  in  the 
thing  was  not  to  talk  to  anybody." 

"  I  knew  it ! "  Hastings  declared,  giving  his 
contempt  full  play.  "And  he  persuaded  you 
that  you  might  have  seen — might,  mind  you — 
and  he  gave  you  the  suggestion  skilfully,  more 
by  indirection  than  by  flat  statement — that  you 
might  have  seen  Berne  Webster  out  there  on  the 
lawn  that  night,  when  you  were  uncertain,  when 
you  feared  it  yourself — a  little.  Isn't  that 
true?  " 

Sloane  looked  at  him  with  widening  eyes,  his 
lips  trembling. 

"Come,  Mr.  Sloane!  Let's  play  fair,  didn't 
he?" 

"We-ell,  yes." 

"And,"  Hastings  continued,  thumping  the 
table  with  a  heavy  hand  to  drive  home  the  points 
of  his  statement,  "he  persuaded  you  to  offer 


DENIAL  OF  THE  CHAKGE          271 

that  money  to  Mrs.  Brace — last  Tuesday  night. 
— Didn't  he? — And  that  matches  his  slippery 
cunning  in  pretending  he  was  saving  Webster 
by  hiding  the  fact  that  Webster's  hand  had 
gagged  him  when  they  found  the  body.  He  fig- 
ured his  willingness  to  help  somebody  else  would 
keep  suspicion  away  from  him.  I " 

"  Kot!  All  rot!  "  Wilton  broke  in.  "  Where 
do  you  think  you  are,  Arthur,  on  the  witness 
stand?  He'll  have  you  saying  white's  black  in 
a  minute." 

"  Mr.  Sloane,"  the  detective  said,  getting  to 
his  feet,  "  he  induced  you  to  pay  money  to  Mrs. 
Brace — while  it's  the  colour  of  blackmail,  it 
won't  be  a  matter  for  prosecution;  you  gave  it 
to  her,  in  a  sense,  unsolicited — but  he  induced 
you  to  do  that  because  he  knew  she  was  out 
for  blackmail.  He  hoped  that,  if  you  bought 
her  off,  she  wouldn't  pursue  him  farther." 

"  Farther !  "  echoed  Sloane.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  man!  Don't  you  see?  Money  was 
back  of  all  that  tragedy.  He  murdered  the  girl 
because  she  had  come  here  to  renew  her  mother's 
attempts  at  blackmail  on  him!  Not  content 
with  duping  you,  with  handling  you  as  if  you'd 
been  a  baby,  he  put  you  up  to  buying  off  the 
woman  who  was  after  him — and  he  did  it  by 
fooling  you  into  thinking  that  you  were  sav- 


272  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

ing  the  name,  if  not  the  very  life,  of  your  daugh- 
ter's fiance"!  He " 

"Lies!  Wild  lie!"  thundered  Wilton,  push- 
ing back  from  the  table.  "  I'm  through 
with " 

"  No !  No !  "  shrilled  Sloane.  "  Wait !  Prove 
that,  Hastings!  Prove  it — if  you  can!  Shud- 
dering saints!  Have  I ?"  „ 

He  looked  once  at  Wilton's  contorted  face, 
and  recoiled,  the  movement  confessing  at  last 
his  lack  of  faith  in  the  man. 

"  I  will,"  Hastings  answered  him,  and  moved 
toward  the  door ;  "  I'll  prove  it — by  the  girl's 
mother." 

He  threw  open  the  door,  and,  sure  now  of 
holding  Sloane's  attention,  went  in  search  of 
Mrs.  Brace  and  the  sheriff. 


XXI 

"  AMPLE  EVIDENCE  " 

THE  two  men  in  the  library  waited  a  long 
time  for  his  return.  Wilton,  elbows  on 
the  table,  stared  straight  in  front  of  him, 
giving  no  sign  of  knowledge  of  the  other's  pres- 
ence. Sloane  fidgeted  with  the  smelling-salts, 
emitting  now  and  then  long-drawn,  tremulous 
eighs  that  were  his  own  special  vocabulary  of 
dissatisfaction.  He  spoke  once. 

"Mute  and  cringing  martyrs!"  he  said,  in 
suspicious  remonstrance.  "  If  he'd  say  some- 
thing we  could  deny !  So  far,  Tom,  you're  mixed 
up  in — 

"Why  can't  you  wait  until  he's  through?" 
Wilton  objected  roughly. 

They  heard  people  coming  down  the  hall. 
Lucille,  following  Mrs.  Brace  into  the  room, 
went  to  her  father.  They  could  see,  from  her 
look  of  grieved  wonder,  that  Hastings  had  told 
her  of  the  charge  against  Wilton.  The  sheriff's 
expression  confirmed  the  supposition.  His 
mouth  hung  open,  so  that  the  unsteady  fingers 
with  which  he  plucked  at  his  knuckle  like  chin 

273 


274  "NO  CLUE!" 

appeared  also  to  support  his  fallen  jaw.  He 
made  a  weak-kneed  progress  from  the  door  to 
a  chair  near  the  screened  fireplace. 

For  a  full  half-minute  Hastings  was  silent, 
as  if  to  let  the  doubts  and  suspense  of  each 
member  of  the  group  emphasize  his  dominance 
of  the  situation.  He  reviewed  swiftly  some  of 
'the  little  things  he  had  used  to  build  up  in  his 
own  mind  the  certainty  of  Wilton's  guilt:  the 
man's  agitation  in  the  music  room  at  the  dis- 
covery, not  that  a  part  of  the  grey  envelope  had 
been  found,  but  that  it  contained  some  of  the 
words  of  the  letter — his  obvious  alarm  when 
found  quarrelling  with  Mrs.  Brace  in  his  office — 
his  hardly  controlled  impulses:  once,  outside 
Sloane's  bedroom,  to  accuse  Berne  Webster  with- 
out proof,  and,  on  the  Sloanehurst  porch  last 
Sunday,  to  suggest  that  Sloane  was  guilty. 

The  detective  observed  now  that  he  absolutely 
ignored  Mrs.  Brace,  not  even  looking  in  her 
direction.  He  perceived  also  how  she  reacted 
to  that  assumed  indifference.  The  tightening 
of  her  lips,  the  flutter  of  her  mobile  nostrils, 
left  him  no  longer  any  doubt  that  she  was  in 
the  mood  to  give  him  the  cooperation  she  had 
so  bitterly  promised. 

"  To  be  dragged  down  by  such  a  woman !  "  he 
thought. 

"  Mrs.  Brace,"  he  said,  "  I've  charged  Judge 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  275 

Wilton  with  the  murder  of  your  daughter.  I 
say  now  he  killed  her,  with  premeditation,  hav- 
ing planned  it  after  receiving  a  letter  from  her." 

"  Yes?  "she  responded,  a  certain  tenseness  in 
her  voice. 

She  had  gone  to  a  chair  by  th^  window;  and, 
like  the  sheriff,  she  faced  the  tn  at  the  table: 
Wilton,  Sloane,  and  Lucille,  who  stood  behind 
her  father,  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

Hastings  slowly  paced  the  floor  as  he  talked, 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him  and  now  and  then 
moving  the  tail  of  his  coat  up  and  down.  He 
glanced  at  Mrs.  Brace  over  the  rims  of  his  spec- 
tacles, his  eyes  shrewd  and  keen.  He  showed 
an  unmistakable  self-satisfaction,  like  the  ela- 
tion Wilton  had  detected  in  his  bearing  on  two 
former  occasions. 

"  Now,"  he  asked  her,  "  what  can  you  tell  us 
about  that  letter?  " 

Wilton,  his  chest  pressed  so  hard  against  the 
edge  of  the  table  that  his  breathing  moved  his 
body,  turned  his  swollen  face  upon  her  at  last, 
his  eyes  flaming  under  the  thatch  of  his  down- 
drawn  brows. 

Mrs.  Brace,  her  high-shouldered,  lean  frame 
silhouetted  against  the  window,  began,  in  a  col- 
ourless, unemotioned  tone: 

"  As  you  know,  Mr.  Hastings,  I  thought  this 
man  Wilton  owed  me  money,  more  than  money. 


276  "NO  CLUE!" 

I'd  looked  for  him  for  twenty-six  years.  Less 
than  a  year  ago  I  located  him  here  in  Virginia, 
and  I  came  to  Washington.  He  refused  my  re- 
quests. Then,  he  stopped  reading  my  letters — 
sent  them  back  unopened  at  first;  later,  he  de- 
stroyed them  unread,  I  suppose." 

She  cleared  her  throat  lightly,  and  spoke  more 
rapidly.  The  intensity  of  her  hate,  in  spite  of 
her  power  of  suppression,  held  them  in  a  dis- 
agreeable fascination. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  him,  afraid  to  confront  him 
alone.  I'd  seen  him  kill  a  man.  But  I  was  in 
desperate  need.  I  thought,  if  my  daughter  could 
talk  to  him,  he  would  be  brought  to  do  the  right 
thing.  I  suppose,"  she  said  with  a  wintry  smile, 
"you'd  call  it  an  attempt  to  blackmail — if  he 
had  let  it  go  far  enough. 

"  She  wrote  him  a  letter,  on  grey  paper,  and 
sent  it,  in  an  oblong,  grey  envelope,  to  him 
here  at  Sloanehurst  last  Friday  night.  He  got 
it  Saturday  afternoon.  If  he  hadn't  received 
it,  he'd  never  have  been  out  on  the  lawn — with 
a  dagger  he'd  made  for  the  occasion — at  eleven 
or  eleven-fifteen,  which  was  the  time  Mildred 
said  in  her  letter  she'd  see  him  there.  She  had 
added  that,  if  he  did  not  keep  the  appointment, 
she'd  expose  him — his  crime  in  Pursuit." 

"  I  see,"  Hastings  said,  on  the  end  of  her  cold, 
metallic  utterance,  and  took  from  his  pocket  the 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  277 

flap  of  grey  envelope.  "  Is  this  the  flap  of  that 
envelope;  or,  better  still,  are  these  fragments 
of  words  and  the  word  *  Pursuit '  in  your 
daughter's  handwriting?  " 

"  I've  examined  them  already,"  she  said. 
"  They  are  my  daughter's  writing." 

Her  lips  were  suddenly  thick,  taking  on  that 
appearance  of  abnormal  wetness  which  had  so 
revolted  him  before. 

"  And  I  say  what  you've  just  said !  "  she  sup- 
plemented, her  eyebrows  high  upon  her  fore- 
head. "  Tom  Wilton  killed  my  daughter.  And, 
when  I  went  to  his  office — I  was  sure  then  that 
he'd  be  afraid  to  harm  me  so  soon  after  Mil- 
dred's death — I  accused  him  of  the  murder.  He 
took  it  with  a  laugh.  He  said  I  could  look  at 
it  as  a  warning  that " 

"Wait!" 

The  interruption  came  from  Wilton. 

"  I'm  going  to  make  a  statement  about  this 
thing ! "  he  ground  out,  his  voice  coarse  and 
rasping. 

Hastings  hung  upon  him  with  relentless 
gaze. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say?  " 

"  Much !  "  returned  Wilton.  "  I'm  not  going 
to  let  myself  be  ruined  on  this  charge  because 
of  a  mistake  of  my  youth — mistake,  I  say!  I'm 
about  to  tell  you  the  story  of  such  suffering,  such 


278  "NO  CLUE!" 

misfortune,  as  no  man  has  ever  had  to  endure. 
It  explains  that  tragedy  in  Pursuit;  it  explains 
my  life;  it  explains  everything.  I  didn't  mur- 
der that  boy  Dalton.  I  struck  in  self-defence. 
But  the  twenty -nine  wounds  on  his  body " 

He  paused,  preoccupied ;  he  was  thinking  less 
of  his  hearers  than  of  himself.  It  was  at  that 
point,  Hastings  thought  afterwards,  that  he  be- 
gan to  lose  himself  in  the  ugly  enjoyment  of 
describing  his  cruelty.  It  was  as  if  the  horrors 
to  which  he  gave  voice  subjected  him  to  a  spe- 
cious and  irresistible  charm,  equipped  him  with 
a  spurious  courage,  a  sincere  indifference  to 
common  opinion. 

"  There  is,"  he  said,  "  a  shadow  on  my  soul. 
My  greatest  enemy  is  hidden  in  my  own 
mind. 

"But  I've  fought  it,  fought  it  all  my  life. 
You  may  say  the  makeshifts  I've  adopted,  the 
strategy  of  my  resistance,  my  tactics  to  outwit 
this  thing,  do  me  little  credit.  I  shall  leave  it 
to  you  to  decide.  Results  speak  for  themselves. 
I  have  broken  no  law ;  there  is  against  me  noth- 
ing that  would  bring  upon  me  the  penalty  of 
man's  laws." 

He  wedged  himself  more  closely  against  the 
edge  of  the  table,  and  struck  his  left  palm  with 
his  clenched  right  hand. 

"I  tell  you,  Hastings,  to  have  fought  this 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  279 

thing,  in  whatever  way,  has  been  a  task  that 
called  for  every  ounce  of  strength  I  had.  I've 
lived  in  hell  and  walked  with  devils,  against  my 
will.  Not  a  day,  not  a  night,  have  I  been  free 
of  this  curse,  or  my  fear  of  it.  There  have  been 
times  when,  every  night  for  months,  my  slum- 
bers were  broken  or  impossible!  The  devilish 
thing  reached  down  into  the  depths  of  sleep  and 
with  its  foul  and  muddy  grasp  poisoned  even 
those  clear,  white  pools — clear  and  white  for 
other  men!  But  no  matter 

"  You've  heard  of  obsessions — of  men  seized 
every  six  months  with  an  irresistible  desire  to 
drink — of  kleptomaniacs  who,  having  all  they 
need  or  wish,  must  steal  or  go  mad — of  others 
driven  by  inexplicable  impulse,  mania,  to  set 
fire  to  buildings,  for  the  thrill  they  get  out  of 
seeing  the  flames  burst  forth.  Well,  from  my 
earliest  childhood  until  that  moment  when  Roy 
Dalton  attacked  me,  I  had  fought  an  impulse 
even  more  terrible  than  those.  God,  what  a 
tyranny!  It  drove  me,  drove  me,  that  obses- 
sion, at  times  amounting  to  mental  compul- 
sion, to  strike,  to  stab,  to  make  the  blood 
flow!" 

He  rose,  getting  to  his  feet  slowly,  so  that  his 
burly  bulk  gained  in  size,  like  the  slow  upheaval 
of  a  hillside.  Swollen  as  his  face  had  been,  it 
expanded  now  a  trifle  more.  His  nostrils  coars- 


280  "NO  CLUE!" 

ened  more  perceptibly.  The  puffiness  that  had 
been  in  the  back  of  his  neck  extended  entirely 
around  his  throat.  He  hung  forward  over  the 
table,  giving  all  his  attention  to  Hastings,  who 
was  unmoved,  incredulous. 

"  The  Brace  woman  will  tell  you  I  had  to  kill 
him,"  he  proceeded  more  swiftly,  displaying  a 
questionable  ardour,  like  a  man  foreseeing  de- 
feat. "  The  mistake  I  made  was  in  running 
away — a  bitter  mistake!  But  those  unnecessary 
wounds,  twenty-eight  that  need  not  have  been 
made!  The  obsession  to  see  the  blood  flow  drove 
me  to  acts  which  a  jury,  I  thought,  would  not 
understand.  And,  if  you  don't  see  the  force  of 
my  explanation,  Hastings,  if  you  don't  under- 
stand, I  shall  be  in  little  better  plight — after 
all  these  years !  " 

He  put,  there,  a  sorrowful  appeal  into  his 
voice;  but  a  sly  contradiction  of  it  showed 
faintly  in  his  face,  a  hint  that  he  took  a 
crafty  pleasure  in  dragging  into  the  light 
the  depravity  he  had  kept  in  darkness  for  a 
lifetime. 

"  I  got  away.  I  drifted  to  Virginia,  working 
hard,  studying  much.  I  became  a  lawyer.  But 
always  I  had  that  affliction  to  combat;  all  my 
life,  man ! — always !  There  were  periods  months 
long  when  devils  came  up  from  the  ugly  cor- 
ners of  my  soul  to  torture  and  tempt  me. 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  281 

"  It  wasn't  the  ordinary  temptation,  not  a 
weak,  pale  idea  of  'I'd  like  to  kill  and  see  the 
blood ! ' — but  an  uproar,  an  imperial  voice,  an 
endless  command:  'Kill!  Draw  blood!  Kill!' 
— What  it  did  to  me 

"But  to  this  day  I've  beaten  it!  I've  been 
a  good  citizen.  I've  observed  the  law.  I've  re- 
fused to  let  that  involuntary  lust  for  blood  ruin 
me  or  cast  me  out. 

"Let  me  tell  you  how.  I  decided  that,  if  I 
had  a  hand  in  awarding  just  punishments,  my 
affliction  would  be  abated  enough  for  me  to  live 
in  some  measure  of  security.  There  you  have 
the  explanation  of  my  being  on  the  bench.  I 
cheated  the  obsession  to  murder  by  helping  to 
imprison  or  execute  those  who  did  mur- 
der! 

"  That's  why  I  can  tell  you  of  my  innocence 
of  the  Brace  murder.  Do  you  think  I'd  tell  it 
unless  I  knew  there  could  be  not  even  an  excuse 
for  suspecting  me?  On  the  other  hand,  if  I  had 
kept  silent  as  to  the  true  motive  that  drove  my 
hand  to  those  unnecessary  mutilations  of  young 
Dalton — the  only  time,  remember,  that  my  weak- 
ness ever  got  the  better,  or  the  worse,  of  me! — 
if  I  had  kept  silent  on  that,  you  would  have  had 
ground  for  suspecting  me  of  a  barbarous  mur- 
der then,  and,  arguing  from  that,  of  the  Brace 
murder  now. 


282  "NO  CLUE!" 

"  Do  I  make  myself  clear? — Do  you  want  me 
to  go  into  further  detail?" 

He  sank  slowly  back  to  his  chair,  spent  by 
the  strain  of  supreme  effort.  His  breathing  was 
laboured,  stertorous. 

"That,  Crown,"  Hastings  denounced,  "is  a 
confession!  Knowing  he's  caught,  he's  got  the 
insolence  to  whine  for  mercy  because  of  his 
*  sufferings ' !  Think  of  it !  The  thing  of  which 
he  boasts  is  the  thing  for  which  he  deserves 
death — since  death  is  supposed  to  be  the  su- 
preme punishment.  He  tells  us,  in  self-congrat- 
ulatory terms,  that  he  curbed  his  inhuman  long- 
ings, satisfied  his  lust  for  blood,  by  going  on 
the  bench  and  helping  to  '  punish  those  who  did 
murder ! ' 

"Too  cowardly  to  strike  a  blow,  he  skulked 
behind  the  protection  of  his  position.  He  made 
of  the  judicial  robe  an  assassin's  disguise.  On 
the  bench,  he  was  free  to  sate  his  thirst  for 
others'  sufferings — adding  to  a  sentence  five  un- 
deserved years  here,  ten  there;  slipping  into  his 
instructions  to  juries  a  phrase  that  would  mean 
the  death  penalty ! 

"  He  revelled  in  judicial  murders.  He  gloated 
over  the  helpless  people  who,  looking  to  him 
for  justice,  were  merely  the  victims  of  his  ab- 
horrent cruelty.  He  loved  the  look  of  sick  sur- 
prise in  their  starting  eyes.  He  got  a  filthy  joy 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  283 

out  of  seeing  a  man  turn  pale.  He  rubbed  his 
hands  in  glee  when  a  woman  swooned. 
He—" 

"I  can't  stand  that— can't  stand  it!"  Sloane 
protested,  hands  over  his  eyes. 

"  What  more  do  you  want,  to  prove  his  guilt, 
his  abominable  guilt? "  Hastings  swept  on. 
"  You  have  the  motive,  hatred  of  this  woman 
here  and  her  daughter — you  have  the  proof  of 
the  letter  sent  to  him  making  the  compulsory 
appointment — you  have  his  own  crazy  explana- 
tion of  his  homicidal  impulse,  from  which,  by 
the  way,  he  never  sought  relief,  a  queer  i  im- 
pulse' since  it  gave  him  time,  hours,  to  plan 
the  crime  and  manufacture  the  weapon  with 
which  he  killed !  " 

"  I  said  at  the  start,"  Wilton  put  in  hoarsely, 
"  this  man  Hastings  was  only  theorizing.  If  he 
had  anything  to  connect  me  with " 

"  I  have ! "  Hastings  told  him,  and  came  to 
a  standstill  in  front  of  the  sheriff,  bending  over 
him,  as  if  to  drive  each  statement  into  Crown's 
reluctant  mind. 

"  He  got  that  letter  a  little  after  five  in  the 
afternoon.  He  left  me  here,  in  this  room,  with 
Sloane  and  Webster,  and  was  gone  three-quar- 
ters of  an  hour.  That  was  just  before  dinner. 
He  had  the  second  floor,  on  that  side  of  the  house, 
entirely  to  himself.  He  took  a  nail-file  from 


284  «  NO  CLUE !  " 

Webster's  dressing  case,  and  in  Webster's  room 
put  a  sharper  point  on  it  by  filing  it  roughly 
with  the  file-blade  of  his  own  pen  knife. 

"  That's  doubly  proved :  first,  my  magnet,  with 
which  I  went  over  the  floor  in  Webster's  room, 
picked  up  small  particles  of  steel.  Here  they 
are." 

He  produced  a  small  packet  and,  without  un- 
wrapping it,  handed  it  to  Crown. 

"  Again :  you'll  find  that  the  file-blade  of  his 
knife  retained  particles  of  the  steel  in  the  little 
furrows  of  its  corrugated  surface.  I  know,  be- 
cause last  Sunday,  as  your  car  came  up  the 
drive-way,  I  borrowed  his  knife,  on  the  pretext 
of  tightening  a  screw  in  the  blade  of  mine.  And 
I  examined  it." 

He  put  up  a  silencing  hand  as  Wilton  forced 
a  jeering  laugh. 

"  But  there's  more  to  prove  his  manufacture 
and  ownership  of  the  weapon  that  killed  the 
woman.  He  made  the  handle  from  the  end  of 
a  slat  on  the  bed  in  the  room  which  I  occupied 
that  night.  The  inference  is  obvious:  he  didn't 
care  to  risk  going  outside  the  house  to  hunt  for 
the  wood  he  needed;  he  wouldn't  take  it  from 
an  easily  visible  place ;  and,  having  stolen  some- 
thing from  one  room,  he  paid  his  attention  to 
mine.  All  this  is  the  supercaution  of  the  so- 
called  'smart  criminal.'  It  matches  the  risk 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  285 

he  took  in  returning  to  the  body  to  hunt  for  the 
weapon.  That  was  why  he  was  there  when  Web- 
ster found  the  body. 

"  The  handle  of  the  dagger  matches  the  wood 
of  the  slat  I've  just  mentioned.  You  won't  find 
that  particular  slat  upstairs  now.  It  was  taken 
out  of  the  house  the  next  day,  broken  into  sec- 
tions and  packed  in  his  bag  of  golf-sticks.  But 
there  is  proof  in  this  room  of  the  fact  that  he 
and  he  only  made  the  dagger. 

"  You'll  find  in  the  edge  of  the  large  blade  of 
his  penknife  a  nick,  triangular  in  shape,  which 
left  an  unmistakable  groove  in  the  wood  every 
time  he  cut  into  it.  That  little  groove  shows, 
to  the  naked  eye,  on  the  end  of  the  shortened 
slat  and  on  the  handle  of  the  dagger.  If  you 
doubt  it " 

"Thunder!"  Crown  interrupted,  in  an  awed 
tone.  "You're  right!" 

He  had  taken  the  dagger  from  his  pocket  and 
given  it  minute  scrutiny.  He  handed  it  now  to 
Sloane. 

Wilton,  watching  the  scene  with  flaming  eyes, 
sat  motionless,  his  chin  thrust  down  hard  upon 
his  collar,  his  face  shining  as  if  it  had  been 
polished  with  a  cloth. 

Sloane  gave  the  dagger  back  to  Crown  before 
he  spoke,  in  a  wheezy,  shrill  key :  "  They're  there, 
the  marks,  the  grooves !  " 


286  "NO  CLUE!" 

He  did  not  look  at  Wilton. 

Hastings  straightened  to  his  full  stature,  and 
looked  toward  Wilton. 

"Now,  Judge  Wilton,"  he  challenged,  "you 
said  you  preferred  to  answer  the  accusation  here 
and  now.  Do  you,  still?  " 

Wilton,  slowly  raising  the  heavy  lids  of  his 
eyes,  like  a  man  coming  out  of  a  trance,  pre- 
sented to  him  and  to  the  others  a  face  which, 
in  spite  of  its  flushed  and  swollen  aspect,  looked 
singularly  bleak. 

"  It's  not  an  accusation,"  he  said  in  his  rough- 
ened, grating  voice.  "  It's  a  network  of  suppo- 
sitions, of  theories,  of  impossibilities — a  crazy 
structure,  all  built  on  the  rotten  foundation  of 
a  previous  misfortune." 

"  Arrest  him,  Crown !  "  Hastings  commanded 
sharply. 

Wilton  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  heavy  lips 
merely  worked  in  a  crazy  barrenness  of  sound. 
With  a  vague,  clumsy  idea  of  covering  up  his 
confusion,  he  started  to  light  a  cigar. 

Hq  stopped,  hands  in  mid-air,  when  Crown, 
shambling  to  his  feet,  said: 

"Judge,  I've  got  to  act.  He's  proved  his 
case." 

"  Proved  it !  "  Wilton  made  weak  protest. 

"  If  he  hasn't,  let's  see  your  penknife." 

Wilton  put  his  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket, 


"AMPLE  EVIDENCE"  287 

began  the  motion  that  would  have  drawn  out 
the  knife,  checked  it,  and  withdrew  his  hand 
empty.  He  managed  a  mirthless,  dreary  laugh, 
a  rattling  sound  that  fell,  dead  of  any  feeling, 
from  his  grimacing  lips. 

"No,  by  God!"  he  refused.  "I'll  give  it  to 
neither  of  you.  I  don't  have  to !  " 

In  that  moment,  he  fell  to  pieces.  With  his 
thick  shoulders  dropping  forward,  he  became 
an  inert  mass  bundled  against  the  table  edge. 
The  blood  went  out  of  his  face,  so  that  his  cheeks 
hollowed,  and  shadows  formed  under  his  eyes. 
He  was  like  the  victim  of  a  quick  consumption. 

Crown's  eyes  were  on  Hastings. 

"  That's  enough,"  the  old  man  said  shortly. 

"  Too  much,"  agreed  Crown.  "  Judge,  there's 
no  bail — on  a  murder  charge." 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  Mrs.  Brace  commented,  a 
terrible  satisfaction  in  her  voice.  "  He  pays  me 
—at  last." 

In  the  music  room  Dr.  Garnet  had  just  given 
Lucille  and  Hastings  a  favourable  report  on 
Berne  Webster's  condition. 

"  I  should  so  like  to  tell  him,"  she  said,  her 
glance  entreating;  "if  you'll  let  me!  Wouldn't 
he  get  well  much  faster  if  he  knew  it — knew  the 
suspense  was  all  over — that  neither  he  nor 
father's  suspected  any  more?  " 


288  "  NO  CLUE !  " 

"I  think,"  the  doctor  gave  his  opinion  with 
exaggerated  deliberation,  "  it  might — in  fact,  it 
really  will  be  his  best  medicine." 

She  thanked  him,  stars  swimming  in  her 
eyes. 


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